


The Broken Butterfly

by toesohnoes



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-20
Updated: 2006-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With an unsolved case, a murderer on the loose, and a tangle of lies to work his way through, DI Ford has better things to be doing with his time than indulging in an office romance - so why can't he keep his eyes on the job and away from DC Pace?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_You’re not a psychopath. That would imply a loss of reason, a lack of sense. That’s not you. Your every move is logical. You know what you’re doing. Everything has a reason._

 _You’ve been waiting here, hidden by shadow, for an hour now. Maybe longer. You can’t feel your toes any longer and the sensation in your fingers is starting to fade. You tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that after tonight_ nothing _will matter any more._

This is for him, _you tell yourself._ For him.

 _The rapid sound of heels on concrete grabs your attention. You look up, see what you’ve been waiting for: black hair, minimal make up, modest clothes. The humble whore._

 _You call her name and she jumps in the dark, startled. When she sees you she smiles, but she seems confused. She glances around the area – there’s no one in sight. You made sure of that; you’re smart, smarter than anyone gives you credit for._

 _By the time she’s asked you her first question in broken English – ‘Why’re you here?’ – you’re on her, hands around her neck in a strong hold. Bruising._

 _She screams and struggles and flaps, a captured butterfly, and her nails scratch your cheek. You don’t feel the pain, as her struggles get weaker, weaker, weaker._

 _When she finally stops, dead and beautiful beneath your hands, you hold on for a few moments, just to be sure. Then you drop her to the ground and leave her like that, dead and empty._

 _You walk away, hands in pocket, innocent as always._

* * *

This was not a pleasant way to start a Monday morning.

With a heavy sigh and heavier heart, Jack Shepherd snapped on his latex gloves and walked towards the examination table.

There was a young woman lying on it, with her skin pale and her eyes closed. Jack had been working as a coroner for five years now, but the job never became any easier. He didn't think that he'd ever be able to accept humanity's brutal side, despite the evidence of it that he faced each day.

Evidence pointing towards this woman's murderer would be a lot harder to find. There were deep bruises around the neck, which seemed to suggest that strangulation was the cause of death. That made sense, especially combined with the other clues – there was minimal bleeding from her open wounds, which showed that she had already been dead by the time the wounds were inflicted. Jack supposed that made her lucky.

The fingers and thumbs on both hands had been removed. Her teeth in her mouth had been yanked out, her jaw dislocated in the process. However, despite that goof, this appeared to be an almost professional job. As Jack switched the light on above the table and leaned down to examine the stumps where her fingers had once been, he could see that the cuts were clean and clinical – they'd probably been inflicted by a scalpel.

He smiled sadly at the mangled face of their Jane Doe. "Don't worry. We're _going_ to find out who did this to you," he promised, in the otherwise empty morgue.

He just hoped that London's police department had someone good on the case.  



	2. Chapter 2

Detective Inspector James Sawyer Ford stubbed out his cigarette and fanned the fumes away as he heard heavy footsteps coming up the corridor in the direction of his office. Over the year, he'd tuned his hearing to that hallway, so that he could always look as if he was busy when someone was coming.

In truth, it wasn't difficult to look busy in his office. Paper work was scattered over every surface, including the floor, despite the sturdy filing cabinets that sat in the corner of the room. He was fairly sure that they were empty; he hadn't ventured inside for years.

He grabbed the closest sheet of paper; a form that only required his signature, that had apparently been waiting for him for over a month. Wincing at his own sloth, he picked up his pen and scrawled his name at the bottom. He'd give it to Charlie to deliver to the correct department when he came in with some fresh coffee. Technically speaking, DC Pace was a constable and not Sawyer's personal secretary and dogsbody, but Sawyer had never concerned himself with the 'technically's of the world.

He grabbed the next sheet of paper on the pile, paperwork on a homicide case that he'd cracked months ago, when the door sprung open and the bald head of the Superintendent, John Locke, peered in. His blue eyes, one with a scar sprawling across it, checked that the room was otherwise empty before he stepped inside.

"Sorry to disturb you, James," he said, smiling vaguely. He was distracted, mind on other things, so Sawyer didn't bother to hide his annoyance at the use of his first name, his 'real' name. "Hope you're not up to anything too important?"

"No, sir." The 'sir' tasted dirty in his mouth. Maybe all those people who had accused him of having a problem with authority had been right. "Just working through some old paperwork; nothing I can't do any other time. What're you wanting done?"

Locke looked troubled. "Didn't you get my memo?"

Sawyer kept his face blank – he'd got it, read something about going down to the morgue to talk to Dr. Shephard, and had immediately thrown it away. At the Christmas party last year, he and Jack had gotten into a fist fight and both had been suspended from work for a week. He wasn't too keen to repeat the experience.

He decided that, where the memo was concerned, his best option was to feign ignorance. "No. What'd it say?"

"A body's turned up, James. Looks like some sort of low life so you needn't work too hard on it." Sawyer raised his eyebrows but didn't comment on the charming display of classism. There was no point; bodies like these were turning up all the time. If they worked flat out on all of them, they'd have no resources left for the real cases. "Ana was supposed to take it, but she's fallen ill. I want you on it."

Sawyer nodded. "Yes sir."

Locke moved to the door, but looked back and didn't open it yet. "And James?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember to fill in the paperwork this time." Locke flashed a smile and then was gone, whistling down the corridor. Sawyer heard Charlie saying hello to the Superintendent, the two having a laughed conversation, before even that faded and Sawyer was left with silence.

He wrote down one sentence on the sheet of paper in front of him, then gave up with a sigh. He threw the pen down and leaned back in chair.

Looked like a trip to the morgue was needed.

* * *

As always, the morgue was attempting to look like a happier place than it was. Light streamed in through windows and music played softly in the background. It was pointless – like it or not, a morgue was a morgue and a dead body was still dead, regardless of how you dressed it up.

So Sawyer ignored the gentle effects to come storming into the room, doors slamming open. "Shephard?" he yelled, when he couldn't immediately locate the coroner. "Locke said you've got a body for me?"

Jack appeared from the side door, but Sawyer had already caught sight of the body lying on the slab. Ooh, that looked gruesome – maybe this case wasn't going to be as boring as he'd first anticipated.

"Her name's Sun," Jack chided, but his tone was professional. "Sun Kwon. Forensics ran a fingerprint they found at the scene through the database. We were lucky, managed to find out who she was."

"Got any priors?" Sawyer asked, even though by now there were bound to be files on his desk containing this information.

Jack supplied the answers anyway. "Two. 1997, for driving under the influence. Then she was arrested again in 1999 – for solicitation."

Sawyer raised an eyebrow, because things were definitely becoming a little more interesting. He probably should have headed along to the crime scene, even though it would have been swept clean by forensics by now. Damn.

He loosely paid attention as Jack ran through a checklist and led him through all the various cuts and wounds over the body. Strangulation, severed fingers, missing teeth, broken jaw, no evidence of rape, blah blah.

Jack seemed to realise that he didn't have Sawyer's full attention. "I thought DI Cortez was working the case?"

"She got sick. It's mine now."

"You'd better solve it, Ford."

"I _will_ ," he snapped back, defensively. It didn't take a lot from Jack to get his back up. Things had been tense between them for years, ever since Jack had walked in on his girlfriend and Sawyer together. Jack and Kate had split up after that, but Sawyer kept in touch with her; she was a journalist, good at sticking her nose in where it wasn't needed. She could usually be relied on to provide some useful information.

"Okay..." Jack didn't sound as if he believed him, not really.

Sawyer looked down at the body and digested the information he'd been given before Jack had started to annoy him. Nodding to himself, he glanced up at Jack. "I want a full report on her by the end of the day," he ordered. Without giving Jack the opportunity to object, he turned and walked back out of the morgue.

* * *

Just as he'd expected, the crime scene barely looked out of the ordinary by now. The body was gone, the evidence was bagged, and though there was still vibrant yellow police tape marking the alleyway off, there was nothing left to see. Just various officers in uniform, milling around and looking bored.

Sawyer went anyway and had a good look around. Dried blood on the ground, dark and almost black in the shadows and a mud-lined footprint – other than that, there was nothing.

He stayed anyway and studied the size of the blood stain, the size of the footprint – about the same as his own, though the forensics department would be able to be a lot more accurate about that – and looked around just in case there was anything that the previous team on the job might have missed.

Obviously not.

Damn it. He'd wanted to feel at least a little productive.

Sighing, he eventually pulled out the phone he had on him and called the station, just to report on his whereabouts.

"Good afternoon London Police Department Homicide this is DC Pace speaking how can I help you?" Charlie's voice said in a rush, not pausing for breath at all. He sounded rushed off his feet. Sawyer had to smirk at that, even though he was standing alone at the scene of a murder.

"It's DI Ford," he said to introduce himself; they weren't on first name terms, not yet. Charlie had just transferred down from Manchester a few weeks ago – and Sawyer wasn't even friends with the people he'd been working with for years. "I'm at the crime scene." He just assumed Charlie would know what he was talking about. He usually did – he somehow managed to keep track of what case everyone was working on.

"Oh, good. John was looking for you, by the way. Said you were following up a lead. He didn't seem to believe me. Think it's 'cause I'm kind of a crap liar."

Sawyer nodded, but having the Superintendent looking for him couldn't be good. That usually meant he'd done something wrong. "What's Locke want with me?"

"Said that we've managed to find an address for the vic's husband – and he also kind of said that, seeing as you're heading up the case, you have to be the one to tell him, and get him to ID the body and stuff."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it? You want me to come with you?"

Sawyer shook his head, because he preferred working alone even if the department would rather that he didn't. He wasn't a team player – never would be. "No, I'm fine. What's the address?"

He grabbed a pen from his pocket and wrote it down on the back of his hand, along with the name while Charlie told him some extra details. He grouched and hung up without another word.

* * *

Sawyer parked outside the house, and looked out of the window. It wasn't somewhere you'd expect to find the home of a dead prostitute. There were _flowerbeds_ , for hell's sake. A woman walking her fluffy little dog peered disapprovingly at him through the window. He stared back at her until she hurried away.

He frowned down at the address and name, written on his hand. Fuck. He hated this part of the job.

Jin Kwon. Immigrant, moved to London ten years ago, but there was no record of what he did for a living. Officially, he was unemployed. Officially, Sun had been too. 'Officially' didn't mean a whole lot.

"Here goes," he muttered to himself, while unbuckling his seatbelt. Hopefully this would be over with quickly. Maybe he'd have time to head to the pub afterwards, get a drink or two. DC Pace had mentioned that he'd probably be in the pub around the corner after work. Seeing as Charlie had only transferred to their branch, it would make sense to get to know him – to investigate him, basically.

Well, that was something to look forwards to. He'd definitely need it.

One deep breath, then he walked out of the car and up the stone path towards the front door. There were several potted plants by the doorstep, pretty and decorative. Sawyer frowned at them as he raked through the various pockets on his clothing – jacket, shirt, trousers; he supposed he was lucky that, as an inspector, he no longer had to wear the uniform – and eventually located his ID badge. He rang the doorbell and waited.

The door opened after a wait of a few moments. Sawyer quickly looked over the man answering the door, evaluating him; neat black trousers, expensive watch, pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like a business executive. Not really what Sawyer had been expecting, to be honest. He wondered if Jin even knew what his wife did to keep the money rolling in.

He flashed his badge. "DI Sawyer Ford. Are you Jin Kwon?" he asked.

He received a blank stare in returned, then an alarmed burst of some foreign language. Aw, shit.

"Slow down," he ordered, and Jin shut up. Sawyer already wished that he'd forced Charlie to do this for him. Sawyer was a DI, wasn't he? He was supposed to delegate. That was one of the perks. "I don't speak your damn language."

Jin carried on looking at him with worried confusion.

"Look, can I come in?" Still no comprehension. Alright. Slower this time. Accompanying hand gestures. Whatever. "Can. I. Come. In?"

He wasn't sure why he wanted to. He had no warrant and no reason yet to look around inside. Still…

He pointed rapidly inside, and that seemed to do the trick; Jin stepped back to let him past. He walked inside and looked around the hallway. Nice place, to match the perfectly groomed exterior. The floor beneath his feet was made of varnished wood. He was tempted to remove his shoes.

Jin stared at him expectantly, but Sawyer knew he couldn't do a thing without a translator or a warrant. So what could he do for now?

"Your wife?" he said, voice raised. "Sun Kwon?"

Jin seemed to recognise the name at least, because he nodded frantically and started up jabbering in his own language again. Sawyer waved the words away. "I don't understand you, so just stop it." Jin didn't. Sawyer closed his eyes and willed it away.

Alright, this was pointless, a wasted journey. He should've saved himself the time. Shaking his head, he looked at Jin's face again. How the hell did anyone live in this country for so many years without learning the language? Sawyer had lived in England for five years, and already he had dozens of 'bloody' and 'buggers' falling into his speech.

"I'm going to have a look around," he said loudly, and accompanied the words with a wave of his hand. He probably wouldn't find anything, and he'd be yelled at if anyone found out because he didn't have a warrant, but it was something to do.

He walked down the hallway with Jin trailing behind him. The house was normal, really. Depressingly so. The decoration was neat and understated, although there were definitely way too many houseplants scattered around. He hated the moist smell of them.

He made a cursory sweep of the house. Nothing out of the ordinary. There was a door upstairs that wouldn't open – probably nothing, probably a cupboard containing the boiler, but he noted it anyway and reminded himself to check it out later.

He looked back to Jin, who was staring at him, and headed back to the stairs. "I'm gonna have to take you in to the station," he said, more to himself than to Jin. "You can wait there 'til they get a translator."

Jin rushed down the stairs after him, but he didn't understand. Of course he didn't. Asshole. He grabbed Sawyer's arm and held tightly. "Sun, yes?"

Frowning, Sawyer removed Jin's hand from his arm. "Yeah. Sun. How much English do you speak?"

"No English. Small."

"We found a body. Think it might be your wife." Not the softest way to break it, but no comprehension dawned on Jin's face, so it didn't matter. Sawyer shook his head. "Just come on."


	3. Chapter 3

"Look, if you want to report it, go ahead. Stop whining about it like I should actually care."

Boone glared at Shannon where she lay on the bed, flicking through a magazine. Sometimes, she could be so shallow that he wondered why he was still here, still with her.

"You should care, Shan. This could be important."

"Not to me." She stopped to flick to the next page, and didn't look up at Boone as she talked.

"So you don't care that we probably heard someone getting murdered?"

"Do I look like I do?"

"You're not a sociopath, despite what you want me to think. You care."

"No, Boone. I don't. You shouldn't either – it's not like it was anyone you knew."

"Grow up," Boone said, reaching for the phone. It was when they bickered like this that he could never be sure if they were truly lovers, or just step-siblings again. He flipped through the phone book, found the number and called the police station to report the scream they'd heard two nights ago – in the exact same area that was plastered with police tape today.

* * *

DC Charlie Pace was just putting his jacket on, ready to head around to the pub to drown away the memories of the day. He felt exhausted – with DI Ford running around like a lunatic, bringing in the Korean husband for no apparent reason, then leaving Jin for Charlie to baby-sit, Charlie didn't think he'd ever had a more fraught day in his life.

He'd managed to settle Jin in one of the nicer interview rooms, and he'd called in a favour from a mate in Manchester, so there was a translator going to be here first thing tomorrow morning. Charlie was looking forward to it, actually – it'd be nice to see a friendly face, and faces didn't come much friendlier than Desmond's. He missed the old team from the station in Manchester already.

He'd no sooner managed to get Jin comfortable than he had to handle a phone call from some elite-sounding kid, saying he'd heard a scream near the murder scene a few nights ago. Charlie had taken the details down, along with Boone's phone number. Might be nothing. Could be something.

He wrapped a scarf around his neck, picked up his notes for Sawyer, then started to walk quietly up the corridor towards Sawyer's office. He used to walk normally up here but Sawyer seemed to have some sort of supernatural power that allowed him to hear and be ready whenever someone was coming to see him.

He knocked on the door and waited for the rough bark of Sawyer's 'come in!' that followed soon after.

The office was messy, naturally; cigarette smoke wound up lazily from the full ashtray, cups of cool coffee lay abandoned on the desk, there was paperwork on the floor, a dead plant on the window still, and a half-eaten sandwich on the desk. Charlie mentally reminded himself to clear it up for Sawyer at some point; this place was probably a health hazard.

"Sir? Notes on the case." He walked in and placed a scribbled post-it on the desk. Sawyer glanced at it sceptically. Alright, so Charlie supposed that calling a single post-it 'notes' was a slight exaggeration. Still, Sawyer should've been grateful that Charlie had written anything down at all, right? He was technically off duty right now, and had been for at least an hour. He sighed. "There was a phone call – someone phoned from the area, said he heard a scream at about 2am two nights ago. I've got DC Littleton to hunt around and see if she can find any other potential witnesses."

"Why couldn't you have done it?" Sawyer asked, frowning.

Charlie froze and frowned too. He'd been trying to be helpful, but… Fuck. He'd screwed up already, hadn't he? Brilliant way to make a good impression on the boss.

Sawyer grinned suddenly, the stern impression vanishing. He waved away the panicked look on Charlie's face. "Relax, alright? If I was pissed at you, I'd be yelling by now. Thanks for staying late."

Charlie smiled, and felt some of the tension leaving him. "It's no problem, sir."

"You're going to the bar?" Sawyer asked.

"Yeah."

"Wait two seconds and I'll come with you. I need a drink."

Charlie agreed, but he made a mental note not to have more than one drink. He didn't want to make a fool out of himself in front of a Detective Inspector (and especially not one with a smile like that).

* * *

The following morning, Sawyer nursed a hangover as he sank into his chair in his office. He'd definitely had one - or two, or three, or four - too many to drink last night. Now he had to deal with a murder investigation, a foreign husband, and Charlie smirking at him every time he passed by the front desk.

He could vaguely remember slapping Charlie on the back (he _hoped_ it was the back in any case, though he had the sneaking suspicion that it might have been slightly lower) and instructing him to call him 'Sawyie', not sir.

He looked out of the window, and then down at the post-it in his hand. He'd found it, along with a glass of water and two pain-killers, sitting on his desk this morning.

 _'For your head DI 'Sawyie'. Hope you're feeling okay!'_ was written in Charlie's nearly illegible hand writing. In the corner of the note sat a crudely drawn smiley face.

Sawyer smiled, reluctantly, and tucked the post-it into his shirt pocket. He'd already downed the pills and was just waiting for them to take effect.

The phone rang, too loud – it felt as if it was drilling into his head. He snatched at it and barked into the receiver, "Yes?"

"Sorry, sir," Charlie said; Sawyer could hear the way he was smiling just through his voice. Sadistic bastard. "The translator's arrived. Will you be okay attending? I can do it if you want."

Sawyer scowled now, convinced that Charlie was patronising him. He supposed that, really, he ought to just be glad that Charlie was calling him 'sir' again. "I'll be _fine_."

"Right. Good. Brilliant. He's out in reception."

Sawyer hung up without replying.

* * *

Desmond looked around the reception, mentally comparing it to the Manchester station. Naturally, it didn't even nearly match the standards, but that was to be expected. He was patriotic about the places he worked in. Manchester was good, and the first place he'd worked in – Gayfields in Edinburgh – would always be nostalgically painted gold within his memory.

It was good to see Charlie again, though. They'd only worked together for a few months, with Desmond coming to Manchester just as Charlie was planning his move down here. Still, that had been enough for them to share a few nights out and several drunken fumbles.

Charlie placed down the phone and smiled from where he was sitting behind the reception desk. "DI Ford's just coming along." He paused and shrugged. "Actually, I'm not too sure. He seemed to think the politest way to end the conversation was to hang up on me."

"He's an individual character then, I take it?"

"Yeah. An individual character with a massive hangover. Had a little too much to drink last night."

Desmond nodded. "Ah. Were the two of you out drinking, then?"

" _He_ was out drinking. I was out having a drink. There's a significant difference."

"There is?"

"Yeah. I don't wind up downing painkillers the next day."

"There is that." Desmond smiled, but stood up as he heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards them.

Sawyer appeared, and he looked exactly as Desmond had expected. Tired, harassed, wearing yesterday's shirt. He was a little younger, a lot better looking, but Desmond could still keep his faith in his ability to estimate people, to read them.

Charlie caught Sawyer's eye then gestured towards Desmond. "This is Desmond Hume. He's the translator." Desmond smiled, but didn't receive one in return. They shook hands, and it felt like Sawyer was trying to crush his bones. "Des, this is DI Ford. He's working the case."

Sawyer looked irritated with the introduction. "Charlie, shut up," he snapped, before he turned to walk towards the stairs.

Charlie shook his head, and stood up. "Good luck," he said to Desmond, with a half-mocking, half-pitying smile.

Desmond nodded, knowing that he'd almost definitely need it.

* * *

Sawyer opened the door to the interview room, and knew that this was going to be awful. Jin had been kept in here, without a clue what was happening, for over twelve hours. He was going to be pissed off. Extremely pissed off.

The second Sawyer and Desmond stepped into the room, an angry burst of Korean hit them. Each sentence sounded like gunfire to Sawyer, increasing his headache. Two rounds of the foreign language started as Desmond joined in.

Sawyer sat down in the seat opposite Jin, leaving the spare one for Desmond to sit in. "Tell him we found a body, murdered. We think it's his wife."

Desmond seemed stunned by how blunt that was, but screw him. He was just the translator – therefore, he could translate it into something softer if he wanted to. How the hell did some hairy guy with a dumb accent learn Korean anyhow?

He decided that he didn't care and just wanted to outlaw the language entirely after Jin immediately started yelling.

Desmond looked to him. "I don't think he's taking the news well. He doesn't believe you."

"Tell him he's gotta ID the body after this, so he can check for himself. In the meantime, we've got some questions," Sawyer said, trying not to be put off by the way Desmond had started translating by the time he'd reached the word 'ID'. It was disorienting. "Firstly, when was the last time he saw his wife?"

An exchange of Korean took place, with a considerably quieter Jin, and he finally got his answer. "Three nights ago, now. He was supposed to pick her up after work, but she never showed up."

Sawyer looked down for a second. "Why didn't he report it immediately?"

As Desmond started to translate again, Sawyer sighed – this was taking too long, and hurting his head too much.

"She's an adult. He knew you wouldn't take it seriously after just two days."

Sawyer nodded, and wrote that down on the pad of paper he had with him. There was going to be a taped recording of the interview anyway, but it was easier for him to gather his thoughts on paper.

"There was a room in his house that I couldn't get into. Ask him what it is."

That should've been a simple enough question to answer, but as soon as Desmond asked, Jin started yelling, like his voice was actually _trying_ to attack Sawyer's head. Desmond quickly joined in too, hands in front of him as he tried to calm Jin down.

Sawyer groaned. "What's going on?"

"He's a wee bit pissed at you, brother."

"I can see that. Why?"

"He wants to know if he's a suspect. Come on, Ford. Wasn't exactly sensitive of you to start the questioning right after telling him his wife's dead. Give him a break."

Sawyer supposed he had a point, but he resented it all the same. He hated having to deal with _people_ in his job. He wasn't anti-social, but he seemed to lack the skills required to put someone at ease, unless he was focusing on it while trying to worm the information out of a suspect. He just antagonised them.

He gave up, for now, but he'd have to question the guy eventually. "Alright, we'll stop. Take him along to the morgue, get the body IDed."

He stood up and left the room, before Desmond could mention that he didn't actually know where the morgue _was_.


	4. Chapter 4

"Charlie? I want a warrant for the Kwon house. Get it-" Sawyer stopped talking as he realised that the front desk was empty, with Charlie nowhere in sight.

Scowling, because he hated being reminded that there were other inspectors on the police force with equal authority to him, he stormed up to his office and entered.

And stopped. And stared. And gawped.

What had _happened_ in here? Where the hell was his stuff? And why was there a potted plant on his windowsill?

All of his paperwork appeared to have been either stored in the filing cabinet or placed in his inbox in a neatly organised pile. His troop of old coffee cups and forgotten sandwiches had been cleared away. The whole place looked clean: he hadn't seen it like this since he'd first been promoted into this office.

He took a cautious step into the room, wondering if someone would pounce out from the shadows and attempt to clean him up too.

There was no attack, so he moved over to his neat desk and spotted one of Charlie's post-it notes stuck to the surface: _Hope you like the new office, took me ages. Tell me if you don't – we can combine forces and mess it all up again. It'll be great. I'll even bring the moldy sandwiches (you're so gross, by the way)_

There was another smiling face drawn, before a 'PTO' in the bottom corner. Sawyer flipped the small square over and read the remaining words. _PS. Did you have a good time with Des? Hope the husband didn't hurt your head. Remember, you can't have any more painkillers til 12, unless you wanna overdose and die. And that'd be sad, so don't do it._

Sawyer smiled indulgently and didn't try to hide it. Instead, grinning like a schoolboy, he reached for the phone and dialled Locke's number; he really needed to get himself that warrant.

* * *

DC Charlie Pace walked behind Sawyer, towards the door of the Kwon household. It had taken another day to get that warrant, especially as Jin had refused to just _let_ them search the house. Sawyer hadn't improved matters by loudly losing his temper.

Time seemed to be slipping away without any progress, but at least the Superintendent wasn't getting at them about it, yet. Locke didn't seem to even care.

"So the husband's a suspect?" Charlie asked, speeding up a little to walk beside Sawyer instead of behind him.

DI Ford looked towards him. He had his 'work face' on, so he wouldn't be able to joke around and have a laugh like they'd usually been doing lately. Right now, Charlie just received a tight nod. "He's something. No alibi, and he didn't want us searching his house. He's hiding something."

"Hence the warrant."

"Yeah." Sawyer came to the door and pounded on it. Jin had had to be released, as they didn't have the evidence to hold him – yet. Sawyer was _going_ to find it.

Charlie smiled nervously as the door opened. Jin stood there, with his eyes blood-shot and his face tea-stained. Desmond had been called back to Manchester, so they were really screwed. Charlie glanced behind him – there were two other DCs lurking by the second car, trying to look useful.

Sawyer held up the sheet of paper that he had with him, their warrant. "We're searching your house. If you try to stop us, we'll have to arrest you."

Charlie knew for a fact that Sawyer really wanted Jin to try and stop them, just to have that excuse, but Jin nodded and stepped backwards .Sawyer gestured to the other two officers to rush forwards and enter after them. "You two search downstairs. You're looking for anything out of the ordinary – I don't care how small. You got that?"

"Yes, sir," they both said at once.

Sawyer looked to Charlie. "You're upstairs with me." Charlie was sure that he saw the hint of a smile with those words; damn, he was going to get a reputation as a suck-up, as 'the teacher's pet'. Sawyer's smile faded quickly, though, and his eyes flicked back to the other constables. "One of you keep an eye on Mr. Miyagi over there."

He stalked towards the stairs. Charlie gave the other two a sympathetic smile before he rushed after Sawyer.

The search was customary, really, though Charlie could tell that Sawyer wasn't really paying much attention. He seemed to have other things on his mind than looking through bedrooms and rifling through drawers.

He still made a half-hearted attempt at it, while Charlie did all the actual legwork. Being a constable sort of sucked.

It didn't amount to much. He found a diary, mostly empty, which he placed into an evidence bag. There were no photos of Sun and Jin around, not even wedding photos.

"Come on," Sawyer said eventually. "There was a locked door here before. That's what I really wanted to see." He moved along the hallway with Charlie behind him.

There was nothing unusual about the door itself, so Charlie wasn't sure what it was about it that had drawn Sawyer's attention. Probably just the fact that it had been locked.

It was _still_ locked as Sawyer tried again. He rattled the door handle rapidly several times, to no effect. He yelled a brief shout at the door, and kicked the lower panel in frustration. He looked like he was about to have a tantrum, so Charlie took a step backwards.

He was right to do so, seeing as a few seconds later the tantrum culminated in a flash of violence: Sawyer yelled at the door, kicked the lower panel twice more, then backed up and kicked higher. The lock buckled, the door flapped open, but Charlie glanced backwards and wondered if Sawyer was even allowed to do that.

He forgot about that when he looked forwards again and actually saw the room. "Whoa…"

The room was pink – and fluffy. Very pink and fluffy.

Sawyer had already stepped inside, his eyes wide and greedy, but Charlie only edged to the doorway. It was a bizarre room to see even from the outside – he was worried that he'd be sucked into an alternate dimension if he set one foot on that fuzzy pink carpet.

On top of that carpet, there was an even fluffier heart-shaped rug. The majority of the room, however, was taken up by a bed – king-sized, with a silky sheet on top of it. At the head of the bed, a mound of teddy bears sat.

Charlie eventually walked into the room after Sawyer glared at him for not doing so. He looked around, looking for anything out of place.

But the entire _room_ was out of place, girly and frilly in Jin's sleek and modern home. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed and felt it dip underneath him. Nice bed – if it was his and slightly less creepy, he would have spent all of his time jumping around on it.

He picked up one of the teddy bears and looked down at it. It was a mangy old thing, with a missing eye and stitched up arm. He sympathetically ran a hand over the brown material that made up its face. Then that one eyed stare started to creep him out, so he placed it back in the pink and fluffy pile.

"What is this, sir?" he asked, looking to Sawyer for help.

Sawyer shook his head, apparently as clueless as Charlie, but he didn't appear disheartened by this at all. Instead, he was grinning – eager at the prospect of a new challenge. "I don't know. It's pink."

"I gathered that," Charlie muttered, as he looked around the room. He could feel the glare that Sawyer gave him for that comment but simply ignored it. Instead, he stood up and walked towards the wall as something there attracted his attention.

A black dot in the middle of a pink wall. Tiny but still there; it stuck out, the absence of colour in a sea of pink. He walked up and stood on the tips of his toes to try and work it out. Frowning, he realised that it wasn't just a dot – it was a hole. Neat and circular, as if someone had drilled it.

Alright, that was weird – wasn't it? A hole in the wall? Charlie was sure that was weird. He tried to peer inside and saw something glinting there. "Sawyer?" he asked, briefly forgetting to call him 'sir'.

Sawyer didn't appear to mind, because he suddenly 'whoop!'ed loudly. Charlie turned around to see Sawyer on his knees next to the bed, tugging a vibrant pink suitcase out from under it. "Think I found something."

Charlie nodded. "Me too." He moved away from his discovery and towards Sawyer. "There's a hole in the wall. I think there's something inside it." Sawyer looked up, surprised, and seemed impressed when Charlie pointed towards the wall; Charlie felt a rough burst of pride swelling.

He pushed it back and pointed to the suitcase Sawyer had found. "Come on, mate. Don't be a tease; let's see what's inside."

Sawyer quirked an eyebrow indecently at him, but he unzipped the suitcase and flipped the top up.

Although Charlie had managed not to blush when Sawyer had smiled like that at him, the contents of the case definitely brought a red flush to his cheeks. Wow. It was like a portable sex shop; toys and costumes and - he looked away before he could try to examine it any closer. "Um…"

Sawyer didn't appear to have the same hang-ups, as he just chuckled a plucked up a pair of handcuffs, lined with faux leopard print. Laughing like he was a kid, he threw them into Charlie's lap.

"Damn, I wish I knew this girl when she was alive." Sawyer continued raking through the suitcase; he picked up a skimpy nurse's costume and held it up to admire. Charlie just placed the handcuffs back into the case.

He stood up and took a step backwards. Raking through a dead prostitute's kit bag was a little too much for him. He went back to his wall. "So, sir…" he said, as casually as he could. "What's this room, then? Somewhere that she, uh, took… clients?"

"No," Jin said from the doorway. Charlie turned quickly to see the man standing in there – when had he turned up? Charlie had thought the constables downstairs were watching him. "She did not bring clients here."

Sawyer stood up. "You speak English?"

"Yes. I do."

"Since when? We had to call down a damn translator 'cause of you – I could arrest you for this, asshole. Trying to pervert the course of justice. Do you understand _that_?"

"Yes. But I did not pervert."

"You damn well tried to."

"No. I never told you that I could not speak English."

"Fuck off. This ain't Rush Hour, you son of a bitch. This is serious. You broke the law. I'm gonna make sure you go to jail for that."

Charlie stepped forwards, between the two, as Sawyer had been steadily advancing forwards and looked as if he wanted to punch Jin. "DI Ford," he snapped – he used Sawyer's professional title on purpose, to try and remind him that they were actually at work. "I think everyone here needs to calm down; Jin looks like he's ready to explain everything to us, so we're going to sit down and listen to him. Alright?"

Sawyer frowned – it looked like a pout, to be honest – but he nodded and moved towards the door.

* * *

They relocated down to the living room, but Sawyer didn't stop glaring once. That bastard spoke English.

Sawyer and Charlie sat down on the black leather couch, while Jin sat uneasily in the matching armchair. The other two constables were left lurking by the door.

Sawyer looked plainly at Jin. "Well?"

"I speak English."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sawyer stayed looking at him, trying to estimate how long it would take to make him squirm under the weight of his gaze. "What I want to know is why."

"I thought it would bring me trouble."

"Damn right it will." Sawyer probably shouldn't have been questioning him at all right now; he was too frustrated and pissed off. "It's gonna-"

He cut himself off and looked down at his knee as Charlie grabbed it – he clutched it tightly, with his fingers digging in slightly. It was a warning to calm down, but it was a damn weird one. It was Charlie's _hand_ on his _knee_ and… he liked that a lot more than was appropriate.

The hand was withdrawn in a rush, as if Charlie had finally realised what he was doing and why he shouldn't have been doing it.

Sawyer shook his head to try and clear it, and found his pulse racing a lot faster than it should have been. Damn it. What had he been saying?

"Yeah. Room. Upstairs." He paused for a moment while Jin looked amused, trying to remind himself that he was an _adult_ inspector and not a teenage boy. "You said it wasn't used for clients?"

"Yes. No clients."

"So what's it used for?"

"The camera."

The two constables by the door shifted uncomfortably. "You made pornos?" Sawyer asked, while trying to remember if he'd recognised Sun Kwon in the photos of her he'd seen.

But Jin shook his head rapidly. "No! It's all alright. This is no sex." Sawyer severely doubted that; he'd seen exactly what was in the case he'd found. Someone with that sort of equipment didn't go into that room just to read. "Um… talk? With the computer, she would talk."

Sawyer wasn't sure whether to believe Jin right now, but that guy definitely _appeared_ to be struggling with his English. He could be faking, but Sawyer doubted it.

Luckily, Charlie was there to help. "So she was a web-cam girl?" he asked, sounding fascinated. "That's what the hole in the wall was? A camera?"

Jin nodded rapidly. "Yes. Four in walls and one in ceiling. She works with a laptop in the room. I have a big computer outside to control with. They'd pay for an hour."

Christ. One hour? Sawyer thought that you'd be blinded by all that pink by then. "She had a lot of 'clients' seeing her that way?"

"Yes. I have records."

"We'll need to take them."

"I have schedules of who she saw face-to-face too."

Sawyer didn't think he'd ever met a more helpful pimp. "We'll need to take that too."

"Yes. Anything you need – I'll help."

"Yeah. _Now_ you'll help," Sawyer grumbled.

"Sorry. I made a mistake. Just please find out who killed her."

"I plan on doing exactly that, Mr. Kwon."


	5. Chapter 5

Being 'the New Guy' sucked, Charlie realised as he continued to go through the records they'd found on the Kwon's computer. You got given the worse jobs – he'd been blushing for nearly an hour straight.

The internet definitely made people bolder, or perhaps blunter—

 _AngelBoi says: Yeh, take the pantz off 2. :)_

There was also some significantly more embarrassing stuff (and he'd sadly found himself with an erection since roughly he'd started going through it) but it was difficult to work out anything from it.

There was one thing, he supposed. Someone called 'GWHunter' appeared frequently – every Wednesday and Friday, at exactly nine pm. It had been happening for the past three months according to the logs. What seemed significant about it, to Charlie, was that he'd been the last one to talk to her via her webcam.  
 _  
Sunshine says: Hey  
Sunshine says: Are you alright? You're on late today.  
Sunshine says: I thought you were gonna stand me up!!!  
Sunshine says: …  
Sunshine says: Are you still there?  
GWHunter says: Yeah, I'm here.  
Sunshine says: You had me worried. I had to wait for u. Shld I make you wait for me?  
GWHunter says: No. Just take your bra off.  
Sunshine says: How bout a plz? :P  
GWHunter says: Just do it. I'm the one paying you.  
Sunshine says: What's wrong? You're angry at me.  
GWHunter says: I'm NOT angry.  
Sunshine says: Is it because of what happened last time?  
GWHunter says: No.  
Sunshine says: I said I'm sorry.  
GWHunter says: You've_ said _a lot of things, Sunshine._

 _-GWHunter has left the room-  
_  
It all seemed pretty melodramatic, and Charlie couldn't find the record of the 'last time' that Sun had referred to – the Wednesday session was missing for that week.

It all seemed a little off, so he wrote down the details - including the IP address - on a post-it note, then decided to take it down to IT.

* * *

Sawyer closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he leaned back into his armchair. He had a beer on the table in front of him, but he'd just got in from work a few minutes ago and hadn't yet had a chance to drink it.

The clutter of his flat surrounded him, but he didn't even notice the mess any more. The empty bottles and pizza boxes were a permanent feature on his floor – he only remembered to chuck them out when they started to stink.

Now they smelled fine, so he was content to lean back and enjoy his drink. He wouldn't sleep well tonight; he never could when he had an on-going case. If he was lucky, he might drink so much that he passed out. Sighing, he opened his beer and started to relax.

A loud and persistent knocking at the front door interrupted him immediately. Aw, _great_. Who the hell would visit him at this time anyway? It wasn't like he actually had (or wanted) any 'friends'.

He angrily slammed his beer back down on the table, got out of his chair, and stalked towards the door. When he opened it, the angry rant he'd been prepared died on his tongue as he saw Charlie grinning on the doorstep. He was out of his work clothes, the neat and orderly shirt replaced by a t-shirt and jeans, underneath a thin jacket and red-and-blue striped scarf.

He was still in stunned silence as Charlie pushed past him, with his cheeks red from the cold outside. "Hey, Sawyer. Came looking for you."

"You found me."

"Yeah – looked up your address on the station's database. Hope you don't mind?" Charlie didn't even give him a chance to mind, seeing as he kept on talking. "Anyway, I was at home and I got this call from—Whoa, your place is a tip." Charlie stopped talking to turn and take in the mess. "I thought your office was bad. Have you ever cleaned up in here?"

"Yeah, actually. Just tidied last weekend," Sawyer snapped. He glared at a half-eaten takeaway box that was next to his opened beer, where it had been sitting for a few days now.

"That's not something to bloody boast about, mate," Charlie said, with a smile creeping onto his face. "You seriously live like this?"

"Well… I would've cleaned up if I'd known I was having guests 'round, wouldn't I?" Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest, but Charlie just smiled, an annoying and _knowing_ smile, and nodded slowly. "Why're you even here?"

"Oh!" Charlie reached into the pocket of his jacket. Sawyer watched him calmly, but left the front door open so that it was clear Charlie had to leave soon; he felt like his territory was being invaded - although, it was the 'picked apart' and 'made fun of' part that really bothered him about the invasion, especially as this was Charlie. In his mind, he'd been starting to create slightly more romantic or lust-filled ways of bringing Charlie to his home.

Charlie tugged a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "Look – I was going through the computer's records, like you told me to, and I found this one really weird guy… Well, sent the stuff over to IT and they found this."

He passed the paper over to Sawyer, who snatched it and quickly read the typed information there. A slow but smug smile found its way onto his face, and he struggled not to laugh. "John Locke?" he asked, reading the name buried in the other information on the paper.

"Yeah. They looked it up – that's who the IP address leads to."

"This is gonna be fun."

Charlie scowled at him. "Be nice, mate."

"I'm always nice." Sawyer moved towards his jacket, his beer forgotten about. "And I'm not your 'mate'. Don't call me that."

Charlie's scowl turned to a smile, and he rocked on his feet happily. "What _should_ I call you then? Sawyie?"

Sawyer glanced up and chucked the nearest cushion at him from the couch. Charlie caught it and placed it down, still grinning at him.

"Sir'll do, kid. Now come on. Let's go talk to the Super."

* * *

John Locke lived in a nice and bland neighbourhood, almost identical to the Kwon's. Then again, Sawyer thought bitterly as he drove through the dark streets, that was to be expected. Superintendent John Locke would obviously live in a place like this, with his fancy promotion, his fancy neighbourhood, his fancy life.

So whereabouts did web-cam whores fit in with that?

He wasn't sure yet and knew that he'd only started to scratch at the surface of this mystery. There was so much more, so many extra levels that he just needed to –

 _'Love, love me do  
You know I love you'_

His eyes widened as Charlie flicked the radio on and music flooded through the car. "What're you doing?" he snapped. He moved to switch it off, but Charlie batted his hand lightly away from the controls.

"Listening to the radio!" Charlie had to yell above the music to even be heard.

"It's my car."

"And I'm in it, so we're listening to the radio." Charlie grinned, again; Sawyer was starting to pick up on the fact that _that_ smile was Bad News. "I'm your guest; you've got to be nice to me, sir."

Sawyer glowered, but he left the radio as it was. He told himself that it was just because they only had a few blocks left to go.

All the same, he was extremely relieved when he stopped outside Locke's house. He'd never been able to stand the Beatles.

Charlie was laughing to himself, though. "You're such a bloody grouch," he said with an oddly warm smile, before stepped out of the car.

Sawyer scowled and got out too, slamming the door shut. "A 'grouch'? Who are you – Dickens?"

Charlie looked confused. "What? If I'd called you a scrooge then I'd have been Dickens. And if I'd called you a grinch, I'd have been Seuss. But… I called you a grouch. 'cause you are one. That just makes me, like, the inventor of Sesame Street."

Charlie moved around the car and pulled Sawyer by the arm towards the door of Locke's house.

Sawyer was still trying to catch up with what Charlie had just said, as the DC knocked on the door after spending a few moments trying and failing to find the bell. "Sesame Street?" he asked. "Sorry, 'mate'; I'm not three years old."

"Aw, come on. Y'know, the guy in the bin?" Charlie said, but before he could explain any further, Locke had flung the door open.

With a plain white t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, Locke had obviously been in bed. Sawyer felt slightly put off – he'd never seen Locke when he wasn't wearing his shirt and tie. The old guy had even worn it to the Christmas party.

"James?" Locke asked. He glanced towards Charlie, before back to Sawyer. "Has something happened at the station?"

He looked ready to run for the car and rush into work in his slippers, so Sawyer shook his head quickly. "No, it ain't nothing like that. Can we come in?"

Locke looked uneasy, but he nodded. "Yes, of course. Leave your shoes by the door."

While uneasy, Locke still seemed comfortable enough and completely in control. Sawyer frowned as he took his shoes off; he wanted to see some panic. Locke must've guessed by now why they were here. He glanced towards Charlie and saw the nervous look on his face, before both of them followed Locke to the kitchen.

They sat down on the stools surrounding the table. There were several gadgets on the counter by the wall, but Sawyer doubted if they'd ever been used. They were just there to look nice and shiny.

Locke began to take three mugs out of the cupboard, after switching the kettle on. He didn't turn around, but began to speak anyway. "I suppose you've found me out, haven't you? That’s why you're here."

Sawyer nodded, glad that he'd brought this up. "Yeah, Locke. We found out." At the slump of Locke's shoulders from those words, Sawyer couldn't even feel smug about having the ability to drag the bald bastard's name through the mud.

Locke still didn't turn around. "Am I being charged with anything?"

"No, sir," Charlie said. Sawyer felt a slightly possessive flare of annoyance run through him; he wanted to ban Charlie from calling anyone else but him 'sir'. "It wasn't technically illegal. However, if we find out that you had any meetings in person with the victim…"

"I didn't. It was innocent, I promise."

"Yeah." Sawyer rolled his eyes. "As innocent as you can get when you're ordering her to get her kit off."

"It was a mistake. But…"

"Save it. We've got some questions. We can do this here, or would you rather we took you into the station for it?"

Locke shook his head. "I'll cooperate. Here's fine – I've got nothing to hide." The kettle boiled and he filled a teapot. Sawyer was never going to get used to this British obsession with tea. It all tasted like shit to him.

" _Nothing_?" Charlie asked. A swell of pride rose up within Sawyer; Charlie sounded like a hard-nosed investigator already. "Then why didn't you tell us about your sessions with her when we first IDed the body? It would've saved us a whole load of hassle, y'know."

Locke turned around and placed two mugs in front of them, while keeping the third one for himself. "I know. I should have."

"But you didn't," Charlie said.

Locke looked mildly annoyed, which Sawyer liked, because it meant that they were getting to him – about time. He'd been starting to wonder if it was even physically possible to shatter Locke's cool.

"No I… I guess I hoped it would blow over." Locke moved forwards to sit in the seat opposite them at the table.

"It didn't," Charlie said bluntly, before he reached into the pocket of his jacket. His hand emerged clutching a different sheet of paper, which made Sawyer uneasy – he hadn't been shown this sheet. Not being told the full details before an interrogation made him edgy. "Sir, you had an argument with the deceased the last time you spoke."

Locke looked down into his teacup. "Yes. We… There was a slight disagreement."

"About?"

"I wanted to meet her."

"And she didn't want to meet you."

Locke still didn't look up, but he nodded solemnly. Sawyer kept quiet, for now, but he was going to _yell_ at Charlie when this was done – how could he not have told him about that argument?

"She said it was best if we just kept things as they were."

Charlie nodded. "How did that make you feel?"

"I…" Locke looked up, blue eyes as sharp as ever. He was a clever man, a good cop. He'd be able to tell exactly what they were thinking about him. "I didn't kill her, Pace. I can promise you that. I did not kill her."

Locke stood up, angry now and unashamed. Sawyer placed a protective hand on Charlie's arm, just in case. He didn't think that Locke would be stupid enough to try and hurt him, but he didn't trust the guy either. If Charlie got hurt, Sawyer was gonna beat Locke so badly that he couldn't walk properly for a week.

"Alright, alright. How 'bout you calm down, Locke, and then I'll tell you how this is gonna go," Sawyer said, with his voice constantly level. He held Locke's gaze until his superior sat back down and took a shaky drink from his tea. "You're gonna take a few weeks off."

"What? You can't tell me—"

"Take sick leave, for stress. Or something. Tell them you've got herpes if you want, I don't care. Just stay away from this station until the case is cracked. If you don't, I'm going to arrest you as a suspect. That clear?"

Locke shifted on his seat and he was gripping his cup so hard that it was a miracle he hadn't smashed it yet, but he nodded; it was a thick movement, thick with distaste, but it was enough. Sawyer'd accept it.

He got to his feet and dragged Charlie up with him. "We'll see you a couple of weeks," he said, and walked out before either Locke or Charlie could object. He still had Charlie's arm tight in his grip, so Charlie was tugged along behind him. He stormed through the house and slammed the front door behind them once they were outside.

"Sawyer?" Charlie jerked his arm away the second they were out of the house. "What the _hell_ was that? You're just going to cover up for him?" Charlie shoved at his shoulder, frustrated.

So what? Sawyer managed to hold his temper for roughly two seconds but when Charlie started to speak again, he snapped – he saw red, he grabbed Charlie's shoulders and shoved him hard against the pebble-dashed wall beside the door. Charlie winced like that hurt. Good.

"Listen, you son of a bitch. You withheld evidence. You think I like getting surprised during an interview? You think it made you look smart to pull out that fucking sheet of paper?" He pulled Charlie towards only to slam him back again; this time, he could hear a faint thud as Charlie's head hit the wall, and felt briefly alarmed.

But Charlie wasn't fighting him off, or even trying to. He looked scared, sure – but he could have jerked his knee up and had Sawyer rolling on the ground in pain, because they were way too close. Instead, he stayed pliant under Sawyer's hands, with his eyes wide and his hips parted and Sawyer felt way too turned on seeing that expression on Charlie's face.

He looked away for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts again. "It's not funny, asshole, and it didn't make you look smart at all. It made _me_ look like an idiot." He'd dropped his voice to a whisper – he could see Charlie's eyes drift closed because of the sound, and got a small kick out of having that effect on the other.

That kick only lasted for a few seconds, before he dug his nails hard into Charlie's skin through his jacket, through his shirt, just to see Charlie's eyes flash open; alarmed, but they were dark with lust. Aw, fuck. Sawyer couldn't help but toy with the idea of screwing him right here on their boss's porch. That'd probably be a bad idea.

Right?

"You think I like lookin' like an idiot?" he asked, keeping his voice low and husky, accent bleeding through. He hated that sound, his real voice making everyone initially dismiss him as a dumb hick, but it was worth it to see Charlie shiver, breath shaking.

"No," Charlie whispered back. Sawyer dug his nails in again, though not quite as hard this time. "S-sir. No, sir. Sorry."

Sawyer smirked and looked over him for a few seconds, unwilling to believe that he was about to do this. His grip on Charlie's shoulders tightened painfully for just a moment – and then he pulled back. He took a few steps backwards, and watched Charlie stumble, still smirking. He stayed as casual as ever, even though he was hard in his jeans and already regretting moving away.

"Good, kid – don't do anything like that again, or I'll get your damn ass fired. Now get in the car." He hardly gave Charlie a chance to breathe again, but the constable nodded, dazed, and moved forwards. Sawyer rolled his eyes, affectionate again, and grinned. "Idiot," he breathed.


	6. Chapter 6

The following morning, Charlie could still feel Sawyer's hands on his shoulders as he sat behind the front desk. He hadn't been able to work out what had happened last night, despite thinking about it ever since Sawyer had stopped the car in front of his flat and ordered him to get out.

He'd eventually decided to just forget about it – it was nothing. And even if it was something, Sawyer was his superior officer. There was no way he'd even consider getting involved with him in any way at all.

Unless he talked in that growling whisper again.

Urgh, okay. So maybe he wasn't doing a very good job as 'forgetting'. He frowned and rubbed at the centre of his forehead, as he continued to read through the printouts of the computer files, and the schedules that they'd seized as evidence.

Sawyer seemed to be covering up for their 'GWHunter' and no one else from the web-cam chats seemed too out of the ordinary. They were all either one-time visitors or weren't behaving abnormally or threateningly. He set the logs aside for now, and took a sip from the glass of water in front of him.

Fine. The schedule. There was bound to be something there, right?

Charlie leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a few moments. He almost wished he was back at Manchester. Almost. He opened his eyes again and looked over the neat and orderly desk. Beside the phone, in the plastic pot of pens, there were a couple of vibrant highlighters. He had photocopied sheets of paper – he could try some colour coding. It might help.

He leaned forwards and grabbed a green pen, holding it tightly before getting to work.

* * *

He had pen marks in various colours scattered all over his hands by the time the automatic door slid open and frenzied movement revealed that Sawyer had just arrived – late again. Charlie didn't look up, and instead fought to hide a smile.

"DI Ford, sir? You've got a couple of messages." He couldn't look at Sawyer, so stayed focused on his notes. Sawyer lingered on the other side of the desk. Even without seeing him, Charlie sensed that he felt uncomfortable too. "One's from the chief – he says Locke's taken three weeks sick leave, so you've got to direct any enquiries straight to him."

Charlie dared a glance up after that, and he and Sawyer shared a secret smile. Warmth spread between them, slow and creeping, before Charlie coughed and focused again. "Also, Forensics called – said you've got to come down and see them. Now, preferably. Or ten minutes ago, to be honest. Said you were talking to the Chief. Might wanna go now, though, before they catch you out."

Sawyer nodded and walked off without a word and definitely without a simple 'thanks'. Charlie rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

* * *

Sawyer rushed downstairs to the forensics lab, with his heart still stammering from the meeting with Charlie. He'd frozen up during it, barely able to say a word. Instead, his stomach had just felt like it was glowing, and he'd barely been able to think after Charlie had offered him that secret smile.

He shook his head at his own behaviour as he descended the emotionless stairs to the lab. It would have been fine if he'd just wanted sex. That was easy – but this? This was damn difficult.

He wanted to do it all properly, for the first time in his life. He wanted to take Charlie out on a date and get him to move in with him and get married and have kids and grow old together and retire out to the country and do crossword puzzles – which Charlie would be terrible at, so Sawyer would get to feel smart.

But it was precisely because of all that that Sawyer wouldn't do this. He didn't believe in relationships; they were dirty things, even when they weren't between police officers.

He definitely was _not_ going to give into temptation.

He wasn't.

Maybe, though, just for curiosity's sake, if he had some spare time – he might look up the department's policy on relationships between colleagues.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and swept into the chemical smelling environment of the lab. For a reason he'd never been able to pin down, this place always reminded him of a hospital. And, just for the record, Sawyer hated hospitals.

A man in a lab-coat sat nearby, with a loud and whirring machine on the desktop beside him. Seeing as he was the only intelligent life form that Sawyer could see, he moved over to him. "I'm on the Kwon case. I was told to come down here."

The man looked up, slightly harassed. His hair was greying and the wrinkles thrown over his face seemed to imply that he was nearing retirement age. "The fingerless chick? Yeah, we've just finished processing the evidence you sent down."

Sawyer nodded, even though he hadn't sent _anything_ down here. Other people would've done that for him, and he hadn't even been working the case since the beginning. "What is it?"

"There was a powder found at the murder scene. We've tested a sample – it's sand. We thought, at first, that it might be some kind of drug, but… Apparently not!" The man – Sawyer really wished that they'd bothered to introduce themselves – bopped off his stool and walked to grab a file. Sawyer had it thrust into his arms before he could protest that he didn't want any more paper. "That's the full chemical breakdown of the sample and finance report. I've also added in the report about the blood we found under her fingernails."

"Just tell me about it."

"Alright. Type AB, no match in the database. But we did manage to find something out that might help." He grinned, and Sawyer stared blankly at him, just wanting to yell at him to hurry up. "It's related to her. Mother, father, sibling, child, something. Definitely related."

Sawyer frowned, but he nodded slowly. He hadn't known that there was any family in the country. "Anything else?"

"The footprint. Ecco brand shoes, size 10, man's shoe. That's all we've got so far – we're working on narrowing down the exact type."

Sawyer tried hard to pay attention, because this might actually be important. It might've been more interesting if the lab-rat talking did so in anything other than a monotone. "Is that it? Any fingerprints found?"

"No, sorry. There's a full report of everything in that file. If anything else comes up, we'll call you down."

Sawyer nodded, while trying to figure out roughly how long it'd take him to read the damn file. A couple of hours, if he was lucky and read it fast. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, before turning around to leave. It looked like he had a day of reading ahead of him.

* * *

"Sawyer!" Charlie called as the DI walked past the desk. He'd only been down at forensics for about five minutes, but he already looked fed up and liable to snap at whoever was brave enough to go near him. Charlie paused for a second, sighed heavily, then picked up the papers on his desk and walked after him. "Sawyer, wait."

Sawyer thoroughly ignored him and instead stormed up the corridor to his office. Wanker.

He arrived at the office just as Sawyer slammed the door shut – he came within half an inch of having to live with an extremely flat nose for the rest of his life. He took a step backwards and opened the door, while listing all the reasons why yelling at his boss would be a bad idea.

Surprisingly, there weren't as many as he'd thought there would be. He just about managed to keep himself controlled, especially as he saw Sawyer throwing a hefty file onto his desk. That'd explain it; the guy was having a tantrum because he didn't want to read a report.

"Sir? I was calling for you – didn't you hear me?" he asked, closing the door behind him. Now that he'd cleared up, the room seemed bland. The plant he'd left on Sawyer's desk was _already_ dying.

Sawyer glanced up and shrugged. It looked like he was feeling even more anti-social than usual.

"Well, uh… I wanted to say – I've been looking over her schedule, right? The victim's? She's got a couple of hours with the camera pencilled in every night; apart from the weekends." He moved over to the desk and placed his papers down on top of the file that Sawyer had just put there.

He'd already managed to colour-code it nicely, his revision skills from high school kicking in persistently. The pink highlighter meant web-cam time. Then he'd started to use a different colour for each of the other appointments, and on thing had quickly become apparent: she had some one-off random clients, and three regulars.

He pointed to the first one, coded green. "'Dancing at H's'. If she's dancing, I figured that might be a strip-club or something? I'm going to look it up, see if there are any clubs called H, or beginning with H, or have an owner beginning with H or… I dunno. I'll ask Mr. Kwon first. Probably easier. And I'll ask to see if there are any addresses for the rest of them."

"The 'rest of them' is just two people."

"Yeah. Hugo and SL. I'm gonna go with 'Hugo' first – he had an emergency appointment on the night she disappeared."

Sawyer didn't look like he was really paying attention; his eyes had sort of glazed over. Feeling self-conscious, Charlie picked up the schedule again. "So… yeah. Just thought I'd let you know what I'm up to." He'd definitely learnt his lesson light night – the last time he hadn't told Sawyer absolutely _everything_ , he'd been slammed against a wall. He wasn't going to make the same mistake today.

Sawyer seemed satisfied. "Yeah, okay. You make any progress at all, I want to know about it. Immediately. You got that?"

Charlie nodded and walked over to the door. "Yes, sir."

* * *

He'd managed to develop a headache by the time he went back to Sawyer's office an hour or so later. He'd spent that time with the phone glued to his ear, and had decided that he hated being the 'good cop'. He didn't have the patience for it.

He rapped briefly on the door with his knuckles and didn't wait for an answer – he just charged straight in.

Sawyer was merely staring out of the window anyway, with the file on his desk read about a quarter of the way through, sitting open on his desk. He jumped up and attempted to look busy when someone walked through the door; instantly, though, he relaxed when he saw it was just Charlie.

'Just Charlie'. Christ, that wasn't exactly flattering. He'd had to cope with being 'just Charlie' and never anything more all his life.

He plonked himself down in the chair in front of Sawyer's desk, and didn't bother saying hello. If Sawyer could be rude, then he could too. "H's is Henry's. It's a chain of club. They're mainly in England, but there's one in Scotland too. There's even a floating club – he has a boat that goes up the Thames and out to sea, every Friday.

"Anyway, they're ran by a guy called Ben Gale – Henry was his stage name when he used to do stand-up. Now, though, he runs a collection of 'adult entertainment parlours' – strip joins, basically. But, most importantly, Sun had a job on Saturday nights there, as one of the entertainers."

It had taken him a half-hour phone conversation with Jin just to work out that much. Sawyer'd better appreciate it. "Still, nice bit of trivia for you; Sun and Ben knew each other. That's how she got the job, according to Jin. He said they'd known each other since Ben was still doing stand-up. Years down the line, when Sun's having money troubles, he pulls a few strings and she just _happens_ to end up working for him."

An impressed smile started on Sawyer's face, but Charlie wasn't anywhere near done yet.

"And, being so bloody perfect, I managed to get us an interview with Gale. Pretty difficult, but once I explained that if he didn't comply we'd have to arrest him, it became a little easier."

"Well, Ch—"

"Hey, hang on. Unlike you, dazing through windows, I've actually made productive use of the past hour." He smiled and only just held back from sticking his tongue out at Sawyer. "So. I couldn't figure out who the other guy on the schedule was, the 'SL'? Mr. Kwon seemed a little baffled by it too. I'm gonna keep looking into it.

"But, I had some progress with Hugo. When I was talking to Mr. Kwon, he said he didn't keep the addresses of her clients. But, he told me where he was supposed to have been picking Sun up afterwards, and I researched into it to see who lives in the area. No one called Hugo, but there's a 'Hurley Reyes', lives a little while up the road – he's a lottery winner, absolutely loaded. I talked to his wife on the phone; he's out of town, but he'll be back tomorrow."

Sawyer nodded slowly. "Anything else?"

"Nope, sir. That's it. How's the report?"

"Makes me want to dig my eyes out."

"Good read, then?" Charlie suggested, with a grin. Sawyer looked around for something to throw at him, so Charlie hastily put his hands up to show that he came in peace. "I should get back to the desk. The Gale interview's later this afternoon. Just wanted to keep you posted."

Actually, he'd just wanted a chance to chat to him again. Sawyer seemed to buy the excuse, though, as he nodded and looked back to his file. Charlie smiled uncertainly and left, knowing that he'd get to spend the afternoon with Sawyer when they interviewed Gale.


	7. Chapter 7

That afternoon, after Charlie had insisted on buying him lunch, they both went to interview Gale. Sawyer parked his car outside the grand-looking club that they'd be meeting Ben Gale in. It looked odd in the daylight, faded and deflated.

Charlie hopped out of the car, which was something that Sawyer was actually glad for – Charlie had been teasing him all the way here, asking if he'd ever been here before; Sawyer had denied it, but he didn't think that Charlie believed him.

The building's neon lights weren't yet shining, and there were several posters of the club's 'stars' stuck on the walls outside. Sawyer told himself not to stare and they walked up the collection of steps at the front, then in through the doors. It was like entering another world – they left London's drab streets behind and entered a seedy, steamy world of dirty promises and wide expanses of skin on display.

They were there mid-afternoon, so the club was empty of both dancers and customers. The lunch time show was over with and the cleaners and techies walked around, getting ready for tonight's show.

A woman, tall and powerful, appeared in front of them. Her eyes calmly took them in, before she beckoned them further inside. "Hello. I'm Miss Klugh. I assume you're the officers here to see Mr. Gale?"

Sawyer nodded. "I'm DI Ford; this is DC Pace."

Miss Klugh nodded, and looked at them both critically before smirking. Okay, Sawyer _really_ didn't like that. "It's nice to meet both of you. Mr. Gale has a very busy schedule, so he'll only be able to give you fifteen minutes of his time. If you need more, you'll have to come back another day." The way she carried herself reminded Sawyer of one of his old middle school teachers. He couldn't argue with her; Charlie didn't raise an objection either.

Instead, they followed her as she led them towards Ben's office. She knocked once on the door and entered.

Ben sat behind a neat desk, smiling benignly at them as they entered. Right away it was possible to tell that this was a man who thrived on perfection. His office was spotless, with the filing cabinets well-utilised. Sawyer wondered if Charlie had already been here to give the room the same treatment he'd given his office. Even on the desk, all of the stationary was in the same parallel direction, facing the door vertically, like spikes. Two empty seats were waiting for them at the closest side of the desk.

"Come in, come in." He beckoned over to the seats with a smile that should have been encouraging. It just seemed forced. Sawyer felt tense quickly, but moved to sit down anyway. Despite the blue shirt that was slightly unbuttoned at the top, something about Mr. Gale just seemed to be dangerous. Maybe it was the too wide blue eyes, or perhaps just the predatory and intelligent look in them.

"I just heard about our Sunshine yesterday. It's awful news." Ben started speaking as soon as they'd sat down, with his every word careful and measured. Miss Klugh left the office and closed the door behind her. "I don't suppose you've got any leads from your enquiries so far?"

Sawyer smiled; he was too smart, or maybe too experienced, to be tricked by a faux-concerned question like that. "We're not free to disclose information on the case, Mr. Gale, as I'm sure you're aware. We're here to question you, not the other way around."

Ben didn't seem stunned or at a loss by Sawyer's blunt attitude; he just smiled like he already had Sawyer figure out. "Of course, DI Ford."

Sawyer frowned just a little at the use of his name. They hadn't introduced themselves to him yet. Sawyer tried to ignore it, knowing that Gale was someone that would do his research, and pulled a tape recorded from his pocket. "We'll be recording this conversation, to help with our enquiries. Okay?"

The 'okay' implied that Sawyer would personally arrest him and reinstate the death penalty if Gale refused. Luckily, he just nodded happily.

They sat awkward as Sawyer stated their names, location, time, date and all that crap into the recorder, then sat it down on the table. "For the record, Mr. Gale, you're the victim's past employer?" Sawyer started, easily enough.

"Yes. One of them."

"What do you know about the other means that Mrs. Kwon used to earn money?"

Ben smiled and looked down at his desk: Sawyer had already decided that he _hated_ that smile.

"I'm aware that she had some… private clients."

"Could you elaborate on that?"

"She was a prostitute, Inspector," Gale snapped, losing his cool. He quickly found it again, smoothing down the material of his trousers and smiling again. He looked spaced. "I didn't view that as important – she was a club employee and then a friend first."

Charlie shifted in his seat. "A club employee and _then_ a friend? I thought you two had known each other for years?"

This time Ben's unflinching gaze settled on Charlie. Sawyer could see Charlie squirming, and immediately wanted to demand that Ben continued the rest of the interview with his eyes shut.

"Semantics, Constable. Obviously I cared more for her as a friend than as an employee. We had a history."

"Can you tell us about that history?" Charlie asked. Sawyer smiled and relaxed, glad that Charlie had recovered again.

"We used to work together," Ben answered. "When I set up the club, I got a job for her here too. She was a good dancer."

Sawyer felt Charlie looking at him for help now, because Ben didn't seem to be giving them much of anything.

He nodded. "Alright. Do you know of anyone that might have a grudge against her?"

Ben considered it for a few moments, and realigned the pencils on his desk as he did so. "No one in specific. She was a wonderful woman. Maybe she managed to annoy one of her customers. Or maybe her new husband finally snapped. How should I know?"

Sawyer shook his head, but Charlie shifted forwards in his seat. "Her 'new' husband?" Sawyer quickly remembered - according the Jin and the marriage certificate, they'd been married for nearly a decade. Ben shook his head and waved the question away dismissively. Charlie didn't seem ready to drop this yet. "You and Mr. Kwon don't get on."

Ben sighed. "No, I supposed not. I've only met him a few times." He shifted in his seat and rolled up his sleeves again. "But I suppose you could say that I'm predisposed to dislike him."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Sun and I… We have more than a simply professional history together."

"You two had a past relationship?" Charlie asked. Sawyer nearly snorted at how completely surprised Charlie sounded. Still, he understood it. The idea of this odd little man in front of them having a relationship with anyone seemed bizarre.

Ben just smiled wistfully. "Yes. We were together for three years."

"And how did it end?"

Ben looked down at his pencils. "She left me for Jin." Sawyer didn't allow his face to show anything – but _fuck_. That could be a motive, couldn't it? He stopped himself from jumping to conclusions. "Sun just walked out on us."

Sawyer frowned. "Us?"

Ben looked up again, frowning and seemed confused. "Yes. Us. Me and Sun. Our relationship – she just walked out." His words seemed scattered and less controlled now, but Sawyer nodded.

"Okay. We’ll need you to tell us where you were on the fourth of November."

Ben waved a hand vaguely. "I'd need to consult my diary, but I was probably here, at the club all night."

Sawyer was cut off from asking any further questions when the door to the office opened, revealing Miss Klugh. "Ben, your 2.30 appointment just arrived."

"Who?"

"Mr. Rom."

Ben seemed to recognise the name, as he looked back towards Sawyer. "I'm sorry, officers – I wish I could have been of more help." He stood up and motioned towards the door. "Good luck with your enquiries."

Standing, Sawyer and Charlie filed out of the room. On the way out, Sawyer felt Charlie's fingers brushing very lightly against his palm. He tried not to react, but just from that barely-there touch he felt butterflies in his stomach.

Fuck, he was so far gone.

He looked down and fought off a smile as he let his hand take Charlie's as they walked through the corridors, passing by various cleaners and technicians.

* * *

Ben moved back to his chair as the door closed behind the two detectives. It was always a mildly nerve-wracking experience to talk with the police, but as the owner of a chain of night-clubs – and hotels, and corner shops, actually – the trouble tended to go with the territory.

But Sun? Why her? She was _good_. You wouldn't have thought so – she was a dancer, she was a whore. She was amazing. Just young. Just naïve. Just misguided.

And now 'just dead'. Ben sighed and looked up as Ethan entered the room. He'd arranged the meeting, directly after the police interviews, for two reasons: to give the police a timetable, ad so that he could discuss the happenings with Ethan right afterwards.

"Ethan," he said as a greeting. "You were right. They wanted to know about Sun."

Officially, Ethan was the manager of one of his hotels, out in Cornwall. Unofficially, he did a little of everything. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Ben said. Ethan looked sceptical, so he conceded and shrugged. "More or less."

Now, Ethan looked thoughtful. "Do you need an alibi?" he asked.

"No. Do you?"

Ethan looked down and didn't answer, which made Ben's chest tighten painfully.

He looked down at his desk, staring at the neat arrangement there to calm himself down. "You here with me," he said carefully, finally looking up at Ethan meaningfully. "All night. You were here with me."

"I didn't do it, you know."

"I'm sure."

"I didn't. I found the body, but it was already dead. I thought I took care of it, so they wouldn't be able to ID it. But I didn't kill her. I wouldn't do that."

Ben didn't respond to that, unsure what to say. He'd heard of the state the body had been in when they'd found it; he could only assume that that had been Ethan's doing. The man was competent, but blunt. He didn't have the delicacy needed to handle situations like this.

On the other hand, he didn't seem to have the morals that would hold him back either.

"Alex went missing that night. She said she was going to study with a friend, but she didn't come back until three a.m.," Ben said quietly. She'd been in a mood as well, as always.

He loved his daughter so much, but he didn't seem to know her at all. She was only fourteen, and yet she already seemed like such a different creature than she had been when she was a toddler, when he and Sun had been raising her together.

"Maybe you should talk to her," Ethan suggested. "Find out what she was up to."

He'd have to. A talk with Alex – he didn't like the sound of that. She seemed to hate him these days; and she'd seemed to _detest_ Sun. Sun had wanted custody. He knew she'd been in touch with her lawyer about it, but hadn't ever been brave enough to talk to Alex about it. He supposed there was no point now.

"Yes. I know. Just… get rid of the case for me, Ethan. I don't care how. And keep Sun's lawyer quiet. I don't want the police to know about Alex."

Ethan didn't flinch; he just nodded. He was good like that – he knew how to silence people.

He looked thoughtful, with a small smile. "The two detectives on the case are… close, aren't they?" he asked, trying to get his bearings. He could be pretty observant when he needed to be. There was a reason Ben kept him around.

He nodded – he'd noted the way that DI Ford would look at the other, and the eager to please look in DC Pace's eyes. "I think so. They want to be closer than they are." He paused to think. "You can exploit that, if you must. I'd rather you were a little more subtle about the whole thing. Remember what happened last time?"

Ethan shivered. He remember, then. Good.

"Don't mess this up, Ethan. I won't stand for it again."

Their eyes met and Ben made perfectly sure that Ethan knew what would happen if this investigation progressed any further.

Ethan swallowed, mouth dry, and nodded. "I won't mess up, Ben. Don't worry. I promise I'll stop them this time."


	8. Chapter 8

It was quickly becoming unbearable to work with Charlie. What had, at first, been a mild attraction was turning into something more, something he didn't know how to deal with. It didn't make sense – they'd been working together for less than a week. Sawyer wasn't a fan of the whole 'love at first sight' thing.

But fuck, he'd held his _hand_ walking out of 'Henry's'. He didn't even know why, he'd just felt proud, felt that they were getting somewhere.

The drive back to the station had been awful – he'd nearly pulled in at a lay-by at least twice, just to get this out of the way. Then he'd realise that he didn't actually want this to start with a quick fumble in the back of his car.

He didn't want 'this' to start at all. They were supposed to work together. So he'd done the mature thing – he'd avoided Charlie and hid in his office for the remainder of the day.

The next morning, he sat behind his desk, working his way through that file from forensics. He was looking for anything that might be evidence against Ben; just from that interview, he was convinced that it had to be that guy. He had a motive, and he seemed creepy enough to do it.

Glancing at the clock, he stood up quickly when he realised that he had a meeting with their 'Hugo' from the schedule in about twenty minutes. If he wanted to get there on time, he'd have to go now.

When he reached the front desk, he frowned when he saw long blonde hair and a woman's smiling face instead of Charlie's. He scowled, recognising DC Littleton. "Where's Charlie?" he asked as he paused by the desk and glared at her as if that might help change her into the person he was looking for.

It didn't, and she just shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Ford. He had to go and do a thing. He left this for you." She rummaged under the desk and produced one of Charlie's post-it notes. Sawyer glanced at it and recognised the hand-writing, before rolling his eyes at her and storming out of the door.

He waited until he was in the car, sulking, before he actually read what it said.

' _Hey, Sawyer. Sorry, but I got drafted into helping Dr Shephard with his paperwork. Or something. Don't actually know what – I'm just a lackey._

 _Good luck with Hugo! See you when you get back. You fancy going for a drink or something? Figure I'll need it after a day with the bloody coroner._

 _Charlie x_ '

Although Sawyer was pissed off at Jack for poaching _his_ constable, the sight of that absently scrawled 'x' at the end of the note made him smile. He was starting to love getting those notes from Charlie.

He folded it up again and put it in his pocket, before placing his key in the ignition and getting ready to go.

* * *

The Reye's household crept him out. It was a giant house – you could fit about twenty apartments just inside the first floor – and didn't seem to have any inch that hadn't been run over with a vacuum cleaner twenty times. The whole place had been purged of all dirt and dust.

Sawyer didn't like it as he sat in what he'd guess was the living room. It was hard to tell; it didn't seem very _lived_ in. The walls and floor and furniture and everything was white. The decorator was probably going to something that looked modern. Instead, it just looked sterile.

Sawyer looked up as a large man entered the room. Sawyer had been expecting a… He wasn't sure. A _millionaire_. Someone with a suit, with a Rolex, with something.

Instead, there was a nervous-looking man in a giant t-shirt, with an alarming mass of curly hair. Sawyer stood up and took a step forwards. "I'm DI Ford; thanks for meeting with me."

"It's cool. 'though I don't really know what it's about. Sorry."

"You _are_ Hugo Reyes, right?" Sawyer asked cautiously, just to make sure that he was interviewing the right person.

But Hugo nodded. "Yeah, that's me. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"I just need to ask a few questions, that's all."

Hugo looked relieved. They moved over to sit down, Sawyer on the white couch and Hugo on the matching chair. There was a glass coffee table separating them, with a file laid on top of it.

Sawyer picked the file up, flipped it open and pulled out a photo of Sun. It was a nice picture, innocent. She was outside in some garden, holding a yellow flower and snapped mid-laughter.

"Do you know this woman?" he asked and passed the photo to Hugo.

As soon as Hugo saw it, his face fell and he looked terrified. "Yeah, that's Sunshine." He glanced up at Sawyer, with his eyes wide. "Is she okay? In trouble? Something? What's going on?"

Sawyer didn't allow himself to feel pity for him. Hugo was a suspect, even if he looked panicked and pathetic. Sawyer remained objective, or tried to.

"She's dead."

Hugo paled dramatically. His voice was strangled when he spoke again. "What? I didn't… What?"

"She's dead, Mr. Reyes. I'm sorry."

"But she… she can't be. I just saw her on, like, Sunday. She wasn't dead then." Sunday? She'd been killed on a Monday morning, about 2am according to Jack. Alright, that was nice and interesting.

"How did she seem?"

"I dunno. Normal. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Yeah. I mean… she was sorta distracted, I guess. She didn't seem as… into it as she usually was. Like there was some big thing she was thinking about during it."

Aw, fuck. Sawyer so didn't need to be imagining Hugo and Sun having sex, regardless of the level of enthusiasm. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He ran a hand over his face, trying to purge his mind. "Can you think of what it was?"

"No, not really. We don't talk about that kind of stuff. Real stuff. I mean, I could've. If I wanted. She wouldn't have minded. But… that was, like, my other life. When I was with Sunshine, I was someone else. She called me Hurley."

"So you don't know what was going on with her?"

"Well, no. Sorry, dude. I just know that _something_ was. She left early. Usually, she leaves at about ten. This time it was, like, nine."

"Did she give you a reason?"

"Nope. She just got a phone call and took off."

Sawyer nodded; he'd get Charlie to start chasing up IT. They'd been supposed to be getting Sun's phone records for days now. Hopefully, Charlie would be free from Jack by the time Sawyer got back to the station. He just wanted to see him, to be honest. The sight of Hugo, this heart-broken man, made Sawyer feel uncomfortable and empty.

"Alright, thank you. Can you tell me how long you've known her?"

"Uh… I dunno. A while? A year or so, I think."

"Do you know the date?"

"No. I mean… I was at a big party. I can't remember where or… Crap." Hugo looked down, and his eyes widened again. "She's dead and I can't even…" Sawyer shifted backwards into the couch and hoped Hugo didn't start crying. Damn, he needed Charlie here to handle that sort of shit. "Are you sure she's dead?" Hugo asked hopefully, looking up at him again. "She might not be. It might be someone else, right? Someone that looks like her? That happens, doesn't it? I mean, it _could_ happen?"

Sawyer shook his head. "It was her; we've had her husband confirm it."

"Dude?" The word should have been comical, but it shudder and shook and broke with emotion. That one word seemed to symbolise the end of the world.

Sawyer suspended the interview, suspended his professionalism, and moved over to give Hugo an awkward pat on the shoulder as the man started to cry.

* * *

Susan Lloyd glanced up at the clock on her wall as she ran over her case-notes for tomorrow. Right. She should have left for home about ten minutes ago. Sighing, she placed her hand on her head for a few long moments: Sun should have been here. They'd had a meeting scheduled to talk about her daughter. It just wasn't like Sun to not turn up.

To be honest, Susan was worried. She hadn't heard from her friend and client in exactly a week.

She shook her head, knowing that it was nothing. Sun would probably call tomorrow, apologising profusely for missing the appointment. There would be a good excuse – there always was.

Ready and aching to go home, Susan gathered her things together and stood up, picking up her briefcase from where it was propped against the table. She straightened down the grey pencil skirt she was wearing and walked out of her office, taking care to lock up behind her.

Her feet in their high-heels were killing her already: once she got home, she'd see if she could bully Brian into giving her a foot-rub. She doubted he would, but it would be fun to at least listen to all of the various excuses he would give to get out of it.

Down the stairs of the complex and out onto the street, she was soon making quick progress towards her car. As she started to rake through the pockets of her suit jacket for the keys, she felt a firm hand on her arm.

Eyes wide, she looked up to see a man in a white shirt, with a bland smile and thinning hair. Not someone you'd usually take for a mugger, but that didn't help to calm her down at all. "Can I help you?" she asked. His hand on her arm didn't relax at all; inside her pocket, her hand tightened on the keys.

"I sure hope so. Are you Ms. Lloyd?"

Cautiously, she nodded.

"That's excellent. I'm Ethan Rom – I need to talk to you, thanks. It's about Sun."

Feeling her mouth going dry, Susan nodded again. Her eyes scanned over the street; there was no one there. No one she could yell to, no one to act as a witness. With her heart beating much too fast, she had no choice but to allow Ethan to lead her away from her car with his hand still clamped too tightly on her arm.


	9. Chapter 9

When Sawyer stormed into the station, three hours after leaving it to interview Hugo Reyes, the front desk was still being manned by DC Littleton. Stupid Charlie. Stupid Jack. He kicked the waste-paper basket over as he moved past the desk, towards his office.

Damn it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Fucking case. He hated this. Hurley had spent about an hour crying, whining about how he'd loved her and he'd lost her and he was just so alone and the world was pointless.

Now Sawyer felt upset and broken – he wanted to find Charlie. Why the hell wasn't Charlie just _there_ when he needed him?

He pushed the door open roughly and found Charlie in his office, stretching up to stick something onto the wall.

Charlie turned and smiled brightly. "Hey, mate," he said, and took a step forwards. Sawyer stayed in the doorway, gripping the handle tighter and tighter. "How'd the – Wait, are you alright? You look kind of… not." He looked worried, still standing by the wall – worried for _Sawyer_. No one else. "Sir? What happened?"

Sawyer shook his head and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. What the hell was Charlie doing in here? He glanced to the wall, taking in the sight of pictures and sheets of paper plastered there without really paying attention to it.

"Sawyer?" Charlie repeated, taking a step forward. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Sawyer admitted quietly. He didn't want to talk about it. Talking wasn't something he did; it never had been. Hopefully, it never would be, because he didn't want to wind up becoming one of those creepy-assed guys that shared every single thought that passed through their head – like Hurley. "Just… bad interview. The guy cried."

"Ouch." Charlie winced and seemed to feel guilty about that: Sawyer almost wanted to be angry at him. He should have _been_ there. Charlie seemed like someone who'd be good around tears. It always just made Sawyer feel uncomfortable. "Why? Other than the obvious."

"Dunno. Think it was just 'the obvious'. The woman he loved died."

"He loved her?"

"Think so." He shrugged and leaned back against the door, trying to give Charlie the hint that he ought to back off the subject. At the same time, though, he couldn't keep quiet – if he didn't talk to Charlie, then who would he talk to? "He never told her, I don't think. Loved her all this time and never even knew she was married."

Charlie nodded sympathetically, but he was frowning at the same time. Sawyer didn't understand why, but was hardly paying attention to what Charlie was doing any more. Instead, a question bubbled up and burst out before he could stop it: "Are you married?"

"What?" Charlie asked quickly, biting the word off in alarm. Sawyer sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes. He really needed to get more control over his mouth. At least Charlie hadn't heard. Or so he thought, until Charlie answered, "No, I'm not."

Swearing a little inside, Sawyer opened his eyes and smiled and tried to pretend he'd been planning on this conversation all along. "Got a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"Boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"Anyone?"

"Nope. Just me."

Sawyer's smile became a little more genuine. "That's just what I needed to hear," he admitted before he pushed away from the door. "Unfortunately, it means I gotta do something."

Charlie frowned and seemed curious, brilliantly naïve for once. You didn't get that in a police officer very often. "What's that?"

Sawyer didn't give an answer; instead, he moved forwards, crossing the room in just a few strides, and placed one hand on the back of Charlie's neck. He crooked a finger under Charlie's chin, coaxed his head up slightly and kissed him.

Charlie froze beneath him, tensing up immediately, but Sawyer didn't move away yet. Instead he shifted his hand down from Charlie's chin to the small of his back – he wasn't quite forward enough to try for his ass, yet – and tugged him closer.

He felt it, the exact moment that Charlie gave in and relented. He melted and seemed to turn to liquid, suddenly starting to respond and move. His hand reached up to grip at Sawyer's bicep, hard enough to hurt. Underneath him, Charlie's lips parted.

He thrust his tongue in greedily, possessively, as his hand threaded through Charlie's hair. He kept himself in charge of the kiss at all times, because he just couldn't risk giving up control to a subordinate, ever.

He broke away for a moment, just long enough to hear a needy whisper from Charlie at the loss of contact. It was such a fucking gorgeous sound that he paused and chuckled.

He kept his hand in Charlie's hair with the other remaining on his back, but he pulled back to just _look_ at Charlie for a few seconds, intense enough to make Charlie squirm slightly under the scrutiny.

"Quit staring, sir." God, he still called him 'sir' after that kiss. If Sawyer wasn't already hard, he would've been after that. "You're making me nervous."

Sawyer nodded but he didn't stop. Instead, he drew his gaze down from Charlie's face – onto the deceptively small body. You'd think someone that short would be a weakling, but Charlie didn't seem to be. Sawyer could feel the hard muscle under Charlie skin.

"Sir!" Charlie complained, shoving at his shoulder. Sawyer grinned, but didn't break his gaze, just trying to annoy Charlie now. It looked like it was working. He smirked, but as his hand tugged at the material of Charlie's shirt and slid underneath it onto warm skin, a noise interrupted them, loud and shrill: the phone was ringing.

Cursing under his breath, Sawyer closed his eyes for a few seconds. Perfect. Knowing that he'd swear madly at whoever was on the other end, he didn't remove his hand from Charlie's back and just nudged at him. "You get it," he ordered.

Charlie sighed then moved over to the desk, reaching for the phone. He cleared his throat once, then smiled and answered as cheerily as ever, "Good afternoon London Police Department Homicide this is DC Pace speaking how can I help you?"

Sawyer grinned at the rush of words but cursed a little inside. Just his luck, wasn't it? He was going to track down whoever it was that was enough of a bastard to interrupt them right them. He moved over to stare out the window, frustrated, as he listened to Charlie asking questions and promising that they'd be somewhere in 'two seconds'.

When he heard Charlie hanging up the phone, he turned back around expectantly. Charlie looked to him, frowning. "There's been an attack; a woman. A lawyer, actually. She's in hospital," he said, and he sounded concerned.

"That's tragic and all," Sawyer said – he couldn't help the sarcasm. "But we're homicide. Why didn't you tell them to fuck off?"

"'cause it's Susan Lloyd. SL. And, because she's awake. And, because she says she knows Sun Kwon."

Sawyer's sarcasm faded and he just nodded slowly. "Fuck."

* * *

She sat quietly on the hospital bed, with flowers and cards and balloons surrounding her. While her face was beaten, and she was on heavy painkillers, she seemed calm enough and absolutely accepting of what had happened to her.

Charlie had to admire that.

He was sat by her bedside, smiling sympathetically and listening to her talk; Sawyer had gone the opposite direction, to her office, to that street, to the scene of the crime. Charlie was quietly relieved about that; he didn't know how to act around Sawyer any more.

The guy was his _boss_. One of them, anyway. Bosses and kissing weren't supposed to mix, not when they should have been focused on a case like this.

"Ethan Rom," Susan repeated for the record. "His name was Ethan Rom, he said so. He wanted to talk to me about Sun – I had no idea what had happened to her. No one told me."

She was handling it well, but her voice sounded cloudy, probably from the painkillers she was on. Charlie carried on taking notes. "Do you think you'd be able to identify him for us, in the future?" he asked quietly.

She smiled. "Sure, don't worry about it. I face jerks like him in court all the time. This is no different."

There was a scared tremble to her voice, even beneath that bravado, that led Charlie to believe that she wasn't nearly as fine with all of this as she wanted him to believe, but he didn't press her on it.

"That's great. Now, would I be able to ask you some questions about your dealings with Sun Kwon?"

"Certainly. I'm happy to help."

"Glad to hear it."

As the interview drew on, their case frantically morphed into something else entirely when Charlie noted down the words _custody, Alex,_ and _Ben Gale_.

* * *

"They had a daughter, Sawyer!" Charlie yelled in his office, trying to drive the point home. He'd said it about twenty times in dozens of different ways, but Sawyer hardly seemed to be paying attention. "A _daughter_."

"Uh-huh," Sawyer said, sounding uninterested. "Look, Charlie-" he started, before shifting to sit forwards in his chair. "I can't get interested in this case right now. How 'bout me and you finish off what we started before that old telephone stopped us?" He smiled, which Charlie noticed looked almost like a leer.

Tempted, he quickly forced himself to cross his arms over his chest and frown disapprovingly. "We have a case to work on, sir. We should focus on that, for now."

"For now?" Sawyer asked, standing up. Charlie scowled at him, which got the dirty grin on his face to fade away. He sighed. "Right. Of course. The case – Sunshine."

"Sunshine? She's got her own nickname now? I think I'm mildly jealous."

"What?" Sawyer asked, frowning. "No. That's what he called her. Hugo. _Hurley_."

"Oh. You think he might be a suspect?" Charlie quickly put his theories about Ben as the mastermind behind this whole mess to one side.

But Sawyer shook his head quickly – "No. Maybe. I won't rule it out, but… he just seemed pathetic."

"Right. So we've got pathetic Hurley, angry Jin, creepy Locke and scary Ben. Anyone else?"

"Probably." Sawyer paced around the desk, deep in thought, while Charlie just watched and waited for some astounding insight to appear. Instead… "I dunno. I'll talk to Kate."

A slow smile spread on Charlie's face. "Reporter Kate?"

Sawyer's head shot up, alarmed. "How'd you know her?"

"I don't." He shrugged. "I just spent all day with Jack, mate. He had fun talking about you. You're a bit of bastard, according to him." Charlie grinned, because that was practically putting Jack's words politely.

Sawyer scowled and headed out of the door, grumbling under his breath. Smiling to himself, Charlie shook his head and wondered if he ought to phone the morgue and warn Jack that he might get an angry visit at some point in the day.

* * *

"Kate?" Sawyer clutched the receiver of the payphone tightly in his hand. He'd chickened out of actually going to see her. She was a scary woman.

"Yeah?"

"It's Sawyer."

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. "What'd you want?"

"Hey, Freckles, I'm offended. Can't I just call you to see how you are?"

"Yeah, you could be. Are you?"

"No."

"I win."

"Shut up."

"So how're things going, Sawyer? I hear you've got yourself a new romance going at the office."

"You what?"

"You and the guy? It's all anyone's talking about."

"I- Nothing's going on, alright? Are you gonna help me or not, sweet cheeks? 'cause I got plenty of other people I could see if I just wanted someone to bust my ass."

"Yeah, yeah. You're a little defensive, aren't you?"

"Back off, Kate."

"'Kate'? Hey, this is serious."

"What? No, it's—"

"You only call me Kate when it's serious. You really like him?"

Sawyer looked out of the phone box at the busy main street around him, frustrated with her. She was a good reporter, an excellent investigator and a sea of knowledge, but she was annoying. "Maybe."

"Maybe yes?"

"Yeah."

"Aw. Cute. What's he like?"

"He's… I dunno. Can we just focus on business?"

"Alright. Here's the deal: I'll help you with your case, if you'll spill the beans on your office fling."

"It's not a fling."

"Sorry. Epic romance. Whatever. How's that sound?"

Sawyer leaned back against the glass of the box, weary already. He was going to regret this, he just knew it, but… "What d'you wanna know?"

"God, don't tell me over the _phone_. Meet me at our coffee shop, in ten minutes. See you then."

She hung up without another word. Sawyer slammed the phone onto its hook. It'd all be worth it if he got some good information, right?


	10. Chapter 10

Kate laughed to herself as she exited the café she'd met Sawyer in. Who'd have thought it? DI James Ford, wanting to cuddle up and settle down with a _guy_. With anyone, actually. It was sort of cute, in a 'really not' kind of way. Sawyer probably didn't even know what monogamous meant.

She pushed that to the side. She hadn't been able to tell Sawyer anything he didn't already know, but he'd promised to keep her updated on the Charlie situation if she did some digging for him.

She tugged up the zipper on her jacket and huddled into the warmth it gave her; she could do some digging. Heading over to Ben's club right now, she could quite confidently say that she had connections that the police could only dream of.  


  
* * *  


  
"Please wait here, Miss Austen. Alex will come out and see you when she can," Ms. Klugh said with a feral smile. Kate returned it, teeth on show. She'd taken off her jacket and had it folded in her lap. In the pocket, her tape recorder was switched on – as always.

She sat patiently, waiting. Alex would rush out, she knew that; secretly, she thought the girl harboured a small crush on her. If Alex was ten or so years older, it might have been reciprocated.

The door to Ben's office was open just a crack. Kate perked up as she heard Alex's voice through it, but the voice was raised and angry.

"What sort of a question is that to ask your daughter?"

"A simple one. You can be honest, Alex – you know I'll protect you."

"Who says I need protecting?" Alex's voice kept rising and, just from hearing it, Kate was surprised that she wasn't chucking things around the room.

"Alex, focus. Did you do it or not?"

"You're asking me if I killed my own mother?"

"Yes," Ben answered. His voice was so much quieter, more controlled. Kate had only even met him a handful of times, but every single word he said always made her shiver. "And you're refusing to answer. You won't be in trouble. Ethan's assured me that he's going to bury the case. I just need to know – did you do it?"

"If the case is buried," Alex said sulkily, "why's it even matter?"

"Because I say so." Wow. Kate wanted to step in and inform him that that really wasn't the best parenting technique. Instead, she kept her senses and remained outside in the waiting area, with a single other visitor. They both stayed silent, stubbornly refusing to speak. "What I say still goes in the family. Understand?"

There was a disdainful pause: Kate could just imagine that it was filled with a teenaged roll of the eyes. "Whatever. Can I go now?"

"No. You can sit there until you decide to listen."

Kate smiled awkwardly at the dark-haired man sitting opposite her. It was one of those 'ooh, this is uncomfortable, let's share our awkwardness and bond' smiles, because that was what you were _supposed_ to do in these situations.

But the man studied her with slightly squint eyes, before he leaned forwards. "You're Alex's friend, aren't you? The reporter from her media studies class."

Kate nodded enthusiastically, even though she was still trying to listen to the argument in the other room. She didn't want to clog her tape up with meaningless conversation.

However, she could afford to be rude. "Yeah. I'm Kate Austen."

"Ethan Rom. From what I've heard, Alex really admires you; she always says what a great teacher you are." He smiled after he said that, so Kate imagined that he meant that to be flattering. It should've been too, but it just sounded creepy when he said it.

"Well, I'm not really a teacher. I just guest-spoke once or twice. But thank you."

"Thank Alex, not me."

She smiled, but before she could reply Alex burst out of the office – the door wobbled violently in its frame. "Kate?" she asked. "Can we go?"

Kate nodded, and heard Ben calling out to them from his office, "Be back by eight thirty!"

She stood up. "It was nice to meet you, Ethan," she said with another warm smile, before she moved to walk with Alex out of the club.  


  
* * *  


  
Ethan watched Kate and Alex disappear, and the faux-friendly smile on his face quickly dropped.

Kate Austen. He knew her name – he knew that she was a well-known crime reporter, and that the idea of her sniffing around Alex at a time like this was unsettling.

He also knew that they had what Ben would so delicately call 'a situation'.

Standing up, he moved into the office to discuss with his boss how exactly they were going to reach a solution to this mess.  


  
* * *  


  
Sawyer walked into his office after meeting with Kate, and immediately froze. Something was very wrong here.

He stared at the wall, and at the… _things_. Pieces of paper, a couple of photos of Sun and their suspects, mind-maps, bullet-points and a doodled picture of a stick man had all been tacked to the wall at the side of his office. His wall, his office. Belatedly, he remembered that Charlie had been sticking something there right before he'd kissed him. Maybe he should have paid that more attention.

He eyed that wall mistrustfully, not allowing himself to think of that kiss because it would make him start smiling, and he instead stalked over to his desk. At least there was nothing stuck there too.

He prodded his phone violently. "Charlie, you better get your ass in here now," he growled at it, before hanging up again.

Seconds later, Charlie appeared as demanded, walking into the room and appearing slightly nervous. "Yes, sir?"

'Sir'. Fuck, Sawyer was starting to think that he'd have to ban Charlie from calling him that. It made it difficult to concentrate, and almost impossible to stay angry.

He scowled, and tried to cling onto his anger by pointing an accusing finger at his newly decorated wall. "What the hell is that, Charlie?"

Charlie glanced to the side, at the mish-mash of coloured and pictures. He smirked. "It's a wall."

"Funny," Sawyer said, sounding very much like he was just two seconds away from throttling Charlie. "There's stuff on it."

"Yeah. I saw it on this TV show. Visual representation, right? It's supposed to make everything click faster in your head."

"No, Charlie. It just makes me get pissed off."

"Everything gets you pissed off, so I'm not bloody surprised." Charlie crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. Under the force of that grin, it was difficult to stay grumpy.

Sawyer just about managed. "Fine. If this visual thing's so great, you gonna tell me you've cracked this case?"

"Not yet, sir. I'm working on it. How'd things go with Kate?"

Sawyer shrugged and shook his head. "Who the hell knows. She says she'll look some stuff out for me."

"That's good."

"Yeah, swell," Sawyer said, only just holding back from rolling his eyes. He kept having to glance mistrustfully over at his wall. "We're missing something, though. I can just tell."

"We'll sort it out, mate. Don't worry."  


  
* * *  


  
"Don't worry," Ethan said hurriedly, smiling. There was a nervous sheen of sweat over his face, but he tried to look as comfortable as he could. "I'm going to sort this out. The reporter… I'll keep her quiet."

"The same way that you kept Susan Lloyd quiet?" Ben asked; his voice was quietly mocking.

Ethan felt his heart sink, knowing that he wasn't going to get out of this easily. "I'll do better this time, Ben. She won't be a problem."

"She'd better not be." Ben's calm blue eyes stared at him, with the faintest hint of a threat in them. "Go; sort this mess out."

Ethan hastily nodded and stood up – he'd finish the job this time.  


  
* * *  


  
Alex was hiding something – Kate had been reasonably certain of that from the start. An hour or so of pressing her gently, and she had a fumbled and vague confession: she'd done something, her mother was dead, she felt guilty but she couldn't say why.

Not much, but it was enough for Kate to know that Sawyer had to take the girl in for questioning. Shame, seeing as Kate quite liked her, but she wasn't naïve. Alex had parental issues that were just painful to look at. Kate wouldn't put anything past her.

She dropped her off back at the club, for Ben to take home, and walked out quickly down the severe set of steps. The sky was beginning to dim, night slowly approaching, and she was eager to get home. She could make that phone call to Sawyer there, tell him what she knew – or at least what she suspected – and then have a nice long soak in the bath.

Perfect.

"Miss Austen?"

She froze on the steps, and turned around to smile at the man who was also exiting the club. He'd been in the waiting room with her earlier today: Ethan. That was his name, wasn't it? She smiled politely. "Hey."

"Hey," he responded, but he seemed awkward with the greeting. Kate stayed on the bottom stair as he descended towards her, and wondered what this was about. "Can I talk to you, Kate? It's important."

Kate's eyebrows rose, and she ran a hand briefly over her tied back hair. Okay, this didn't sound too good. She didn't like being surprised – she preferred being fully in control. But she smiled brightly and nodded. "Yeah, definitely. What's the problem?"

Ethan looked around quickly, before shaking his head. "Not here – come on. We can walk together."

She nodded, but her hand slipped into her coat pocket and turned her tape recorder back on. "Alright, Ethan. Let's go."

He glanced around his surroundings one more time, enough to make Kate begin to wonder if anyone was watching them, before he started to walk down the street. Shaking her head at herself, Kate started to follow after him, even though she seriously doubted if that was a good idea.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack didn't talk or respond or move a single muscle for a long time. He just stopped and stared at the body on the slab.

It was her, alright. He hadn't believed it at first: he hadn't wanted to believe it. Yet there was no denying it, not any more – the body laid in front of him was Kate's. Even in the same state that Sun Kwon's had been in, with teeth removed and hands mutilated.

He was aware that his colleague, another police coroner, was standing to his side and waiting for a reaction, so he cleared his throat. Now wasn't the time to fall apart—

Except Kate's body was destroyed. A cursory glance over her would immediately imply that it was a slashed throat that was the initial cause of death: different from the first victim, in any case.

He looked over her, at a battered face and the defence wounds on her arms. She'd put up a fight, at least. An empty smile pulled at the corner of his mouth for a moment: of course Kate would go down kicking and screaming. She was pretty amazingly like that.

"Dr. Shepherd?" the man beside him prompted, as gently as he could. Jack recognised the soft tone in his voice; you used it on the delicate relations, the mothers and fathers who looked like they might fall apart seeing their loved one like this.

Jack wasn't a father, and he certainly wasn't a mother; just a broken ex-boyfriend. He took a choked breath, holding back tears, and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That's Kate Austen."

* * *

Dead. Dead, dead, _fucking_ dead.

Sawyer stalked up the corridor of the police station, and only narrowly held himself back from kicking the balls of the nearest officer. Seeing as he'd rather not get himself fired or suspended – at least before he found the son of a bitch who'd done this – he settled for just slamming the door to his office once he'd stepped inside. It made a loud crashing noise that wasn't half as satisfying as he'd hoped it would be.

Dead. Fucking dead – and, as per usual with this type of case, it was his fault. His fault for not finding the killer fast enough, for not being smart enough, for bringing Kate into the case in the first place.

He paced around the room for a few moments, trying to calm himself down, but that did absolutely no good: how could it? A few angry footsteps couldn't calm you down after you've just found out your friend's been murdered.

Sawyer wasn't really sure what would, though, so he settled for lashing out at anything he could: he kicked the bin across the room, then hurt his foot by attacking the leg of his desk, then promptly swept all of the files that had been sitting on his desk off, flipping them onto the floor.

They landed with a disapproving rustle of paper and a thump that he didn't pay attention to. Instead, he took a breath and turned to lean back against the cleared desk, breathing heavily.

A brief knock at the door made him look up in time to see Charlie entering. The sight of him made Sawyer look down all over again, because he really couldn't cope with him right now.

Naturally, though, that didn't actually matter, because Charlie seemed to have quickly developed a habit of showing up where he wasn't wanted. He closed the door quietly behind him. "I just heard about Kate," he said softly, as he stepped forwards into the room.

Sawyer looked away quickly, and bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at Charlie to get the hell out. Instead he shrugged and wasn't sure quite how to respond to that.

Charlie walked forwards until he'd reached the desk, stepping over fallen files, and then leaned against it beside Sawyer. He let their hands brush together, but did do anything more than that. Despite Sawyer's want to be alone for a while, he didn't pull away and just sat there instead.

"We're gonna find him, y'know," Charlie said. "The bastard who did this? We'll find him and get him locked up."

"I know," Sawyer responded, and wished that he did. He reached out to take Charlie's hand more firmly in his own, and just clung on tightly to the one piece of comfort he would allow himself.

* * *

"You killed her?" Ben asked Ethan quietly. The windows of his office shone light on the wide desk between them – a clear barrier.

Right now, Ben was glad of some physical obstacle, as otherwise he'd be tempted to be slightly more violent with his punishment. He should've expected something as stupid and blunt: while Ethan had his uses, and while his endless loyalty was appreciated, sometimes Ben wondered why on earth he put up with him.

Across the desk sitting in the chair, Ethan nodded slowly. It was a cautious movement, as if Ben might pull a gun and shoot him at any second; a ridiculous notion, of course. Ben wasn't nearly so messy about such matters.

"A high profile journalist starts to investigate a simple stripper's murder: what made you decide that the best way to draw attention away from the case was to kill someone else?"

Ethan gulped, but predictably didn't answer. Frowning, Ben looked away from him and instead glanced down to his steaming cup of black coffee that was sat in front of him. "Do you have a plan on how to deal with this?"

"I…" Ethan filled the pause with an 'uh', thinking on his feet.

Nothing came quickly, and Ben gave a frustrated sigh. "Think about it, Ethan. If you haven't come up with a solution by the end of the day, come and see me."

He glanced up sharply from his coffee cup, eyes connecting with Ethan's: there was no doubting the silent threat of what might happen if Ethan _did_ have to come and see him later.

* * *

After a lot of talking him into it, Charlie had managed to persuade Sawyer to go home: he was no good like this, too torn up inside to be useful. A few gentle smiles and well-chosen words had been enough to send him back to that untidy flat of his: Charlie made a mental note to go and visit him after work, to see how he was doing.

In the meantime, he had to make some sort of progress with this case. He _had_ to, for Sawyer and Kate's sake if nothing else. With that in mind, he was following up one specific line of enquiry: the name that Susan Lloyd remembered. Ethan Rom.

An Ethan Rom who apparently worked for one of their other suspects – Ben Gale. Everything was starting to slip into place, but Charlie still couldn't make any sense of it all.

He pulled his car to a stop outside the club: no appointment this time, but hopefully Gale would be able to see him anyway. If he didn't, Charlie thought he was going to go quietly insane, because they'd so far had absolutely no luck in hunting down a home address for Ethan.

Up the steps towards the seedy world of Gale's club, with his heart beating wildly, Charlie began to wonder if he ought to have brought someone else with him. Sawyer might've gone home, but there were other DCs around that would've been willing to help out.

This case was theirs, though, his and Sawyer's, so he'd just feel wrong letting anyone else in on it. That logic was possibly flawed, but it had led him here, alone.

He glanced around to try and find either Ben or Ms. Klugh – or, really, anyone at all that he recognised. The man that had attacked Susan Lloyd had worked for Ben: whether or not he was the killer didn't even matter, but talking to him was absolutely essential now.

"DC Pace?" a voice asked, just before he could reach the revolving doors.

Turning around to see the grave face of the very suspect he was looking for, Charlie just had one thought going through his mind: _oh shit_.

He smiled guardedly, however, with his hand going to his police badge so that he could flash it. "That's me. You're Ethan Rom?"

A nod. "We need to talk," Ethan said, glancing around. The gesture prompted Charlie to do the same thing: no one else in the street, no one around, no one to act as a witness.

He had to admit that that was less than reassuring, but he didn't let his smile drop yet. "We can do that at the station. Ethan Rom, I'm arr-"

He never got to complete the sentence before Ethan's hand, smelling of dirt and blood and hard work, was placed firmly over his mouth. "No. We need to go, Constable. You're gonna keep quiet and come with me, and if we're lucky then nobody else needs to be hurt during this. Do you understand?"

Years of police training and experience fleeing from his mind, leaving him panicky and with an itching feeling in his stomach, Charlie just nodded and resigned himself to doing whatever Ethan asked.

* * *

Sawyer didn't start getting worried until nightfall, and he didn't start getting _really_ worried until about midnight.

While, sure, Charlie hadn't stated that he'd come around to see him after his shift, Sawyer had just assumed that he would. He'd half-expected Charlie to appear clutching a bunch of grapes, as if he was visiting some invalid in hospital. Beer would've been more appreciated, but mostly Sawyer had planned on getting Charlie to distract him from thoughts of Kate.

Yet here he was, with the clock ticking well past midnight, sitting in a thread-bare armchair and just _waiting_. Waiting for Charlie to show up and start insulting the state of his apartment again, waiting for him to sit down in the other chair and hold his hand, waiting for Charlie to promise that everything would be alright again, in that weird little accent of his.

He glared at the phone, willing it to ring – already, he'd left two messages on Charlie's voicemail, and was beginning to feel like a bit of a stalker.

Giving a frustrated sigh, he reached out to snatch up the phone. If Charlie wasn't here, and wasn't responding to his messages, then he was probably still working: that meant they'd probably had a break-through, and that they were within hours of catching the son of a bitch who had done this to Kate.

The station was on speed-dial – work really _was_ his life, unfortunately – so a few seconds later he was listening to the ringing sound and waiting for someone to answer.

"DC Littleton, how can I help?" an Australian voice said, and Sawyer immediately scowled as he missed the rush of words that Charlie always answered with.

"It's Sawyer – where's Charlie?"

"Uhh…You mean DC Pace, right?" There was the sound of rustling papers as she searched for any indication. Sawyer picked at a fraying thread of his chair as he waited, impatient and clinging to the phone. If he was in the room with her, he'd probably be yelling at Claire to get a move on. "Oh. I dunno. He went out this afternoon, hasn't come back yet."

Sawyer bit his tongue at first, and stood up out of his chair. "Where'd he go?"

More mumbles from Claire, more ruffling of paper, and then a sheepish admission that she didn't know. Sawyer cursed loudly into the phone, all of the various dangerous scenarios that Charlie could've plunged himself into. The guy was an idiot.

He ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw, trying to think of what to do now and also attempting to keep himself from freaking out over this. When he got his hands on Charlie, he was going to kick his damn ass for putting him through this, today of all days. The guy had probably just gone out for lunch and ended up getting lost.

All the same, Sawyer couldn't stop his mind from straying to darker places. "Littleton? Stay here, I'm coming into the station."

"Wait, but Charlie said-"

"Screw him. I'm coming in, and you're gonna help me find out where the hell he went. Got it?"

"Yeah, I guess," Claire said slowly, but she sounded reluctant. Deciding not to give her the opportunity to object, Sawyer just slammed the phone down and headed out of his apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Charlie was _not_ panicking. Honest, he wasn't.

He was trapped in a room with a psycho, and admittedly that was a little on the alarming side – he could think of about a thousand things that he'd rather be doing. Instead he was here, in a hotel room on the outskirts of London, watching carefully as Ethan paced back and forth.

"Ethan," Charlie said, trying to pack as much authority into his voice as he could. Unfortunately, he knew that he rarely had any even at the best of times – his 'best times' definitely didn't involve a killer with a gun and his wrists being tied behind his back. He kept his tone as level as he possibly could, though. "C'mon, mate, let's think about this, alright?"

Ethan looked towards him, his eyes cold and hard. There were deep creases of worry on his face, and he kept glancing towards the window in alarm at the slightest sound. Charlie didn't even know what Ethan's plan was, but it already had him on edge; it seemed to involve at least kidnapping a police officer. It was already a bad plan.

"No," Ethan snapped, shaking his head and waving his gun. "No, this is how we're doing this."

"What is? I don't… What's the plan, Ethan? How 'bout we go down to the station? We can take a statement from you, and—"

"No. No. The police can't be involved." Ethan paced back and forth in the small room, his feet making next to no noise on the brown carpet. "Ben said: I've got to fix this, Constable. It's my job."

"Then let us help you," Charlie said again, a gentle appeal. He didn't know if it would work or not, but Ethan wasn't making any sense. "We can protect you from Ben, if you think he's dangerous. Don't worry about that aspect."

"You don't understand," Ethan whispered. He walked a few paces away now, to stare out of the window. "He'll kill me if I don't do this."

"Do _what_?" Charlie demanded, anger filtering into his voice despite his attempts to contain it. "What're you supposed to be doing?"

"Burying the case," Ethan said simply. "The investigation into the murder of Sun Kwon. He wants me to get rid of it, so-"

"So what, exactly?" Charlie asked, and he knew that he was beginning to sound hysterical. He shifted on the bed he'd been pushed onto, something that was awkward due to the rope around his wrists, and tried hard to calm down. "Murdering a journalist, kidnapping a police officer, none of this is going to make the case go away."

"It will," Ethan said, turning to face Charlie directly. "Austen's death was needed to push your superior into a frantic state. By now, he'll agree to anything to get you back." He sounded like he thought it was all perfectly logical, which made Charlie's heart speed up any more.

That plan would _not_ work – Sawyer was too good to fall for cheap tricks, and he didn't care enough about anyone to make a corrupt bargain like that anyway. It just left Charlie wondering what the hell Ethan would do when his attempts to strike a deal with Sawyer failed.

Ethan smirked when Charlie didn't respond. "I'll give it a few more hours – let him sweat."

* * *

"We shouldn't be doing this," Claire said worriedly as she glanced across the car to where Sawyer was driving. The speed was alarming, London's streets rushing past her wind-shield in a blur, and it was a miracle that they hadn't suffered a crash yet. "DI Ford? We really, really shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not?" he asked, turning around a corner with screeching wheels. "Last place we _know_ Charlie went was Gale's. Makes sense to start looking for him there, wouldn't you say so Barbie?"

"Well, yeah, but that's not the point. There are rules, Sawyer. Rules and safe ways of going about this. You're going to get us _killed_."

Sawyer sighed and did nothing more than roll his eyes at her. "You wanna stay in the car, princess, you go right ahead and do that."

She looked away from him, the shielded desperation in his actions beginning to get to her. She didn't like the idea, but she knew better than to leave him alone with a suspect right now. Left for any amount of time together, she couldn't guarantee that Ben would come out unharmed.

* * *

It felt good to stride right into the hallway of this pathetic little strip-club. It felt good to brush past Ms. Klugh when she came to try and intervene – and it felt _especially_ good to slam open the door to Gale's office with enough force to make it rock alarmingly in the frame.

Right now, Sawyer could do with all the 'feeling good' he could get.

"Where is he?" he snapped, anger bursting from each word.

Ben looked up from where he'd been sat behind his desk, a small pile of paper in front of him. He placed his pen down and sat back, watching Sawyer with curiously wide eyes. "Where is who?" he asked slowly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Inspector."

"Don't fuck around with me," Sawyer snapped back immediately. Behind him, DC Littleton took a quick breath of air through her gritted teeth, but did nothing more than that. "Charlie Pace. My partner, he was here talking to you. I know you did something to him."

Ben watched him with blank eyes, lips pursed, and he eventually did little more than shake his head and try to explain. "I'm sorry, but you're wrong. I haven't seen your partner since you were last here interviewing me."

Sawyer grunted under his breath in annoyance, and only Claire's deceptively strong grip on his arm stopped him from charging forward to punch Ben, kick him, do _something_ to get him to give Charlie back.

Seeming to sense the fury that Sawyer was only just managing to contain, Ben stood up. "Come on, you can even look at my CCTV if you'd like. Maybe then you'll believe me when I say that I haven't been anywhere near him."

Sawyer grunted again, still so unhappy about the situation, but when Ben led him and Claire out of the door, he followed wordlessly.

* * *

What had Ethan done this time?

That was the only thing that Ben could think as he walked his 'guests' through the corridors towards the security office. Thankfully by now the patrons had gone home and the club was closing up for the night. It wouldn't have been good for business to let anyone know that he had two police officers back at his club.

All he knew was that he was going to get rid of Ethan permanently when he got his hands on the man. He'd told him to bury this case, not bring an angry DI right to his doorstep.

"Just this way," he said, with a smile that he hoped was as warm as he intended it to be. It didn't soften Sawyer's expression at all, so it was virtually useless anyway.

Inside the room was a set on monitors, watched over by a bulky-looking man. With a puffy black jacket on, he seemed to be getting ready to go home, his work over, but one glare from Ben resulted in him sharply sitting down.

"Mr. Eko, I want you to take these two officers through the tapes for the past twenty-four hours. They seem to have decided that I've kidnapped one of their co-workers, I'd like to prove them wrong."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to the board of controls in front of him. Various buttons were pushed and some alarming noises were made, but Ben paid little attention. "I assure you," he said to Sawyer, "I have nothing to do with what happened. I will of course help you in any way I can, but I'm afraid our attempts here will be futile."

As they were talking, Mr. Eko continued to scan through the videos on the monitors, but they paid him little attention. "I bet they will be," Sawyer agreed, which wasn't at all what Ben had been expecting. "'course they will, you'll have wiped the damn tapes or somethin' by now."

"When would I have had the time to do that, exactly?" Ben asked, and he was already losing patience with this man. "And, more to the point, why would I take him in the first place?"

"Hell if I know how your damn mind works," Sawyer said, venom pouring out of him. "I know you did it, though. And I know you killed her – both of them. Sun and Kate. I can almost see the blood on your hands."

Ben's face stayed neutral, and he told himself that it was at least better that this man suspected him than his daughter. Really, he'd rather there was either no suspicion, or at least that it was directed at Ethan, but he'd make do with anything to protect Alex.

"If you don't have any evidence, I'm afraid—"

"Hey, Sawyer?" Claire said, suddenly stepping closer to the screens that Mr. Eko was examining. Sawyer's attention was roughly diverted too, and the two police officers began to study what was on the tape.

Eko had slowed it down to a regular speed again, and as Ben watched the video he pursed his lips curiously: there he was, the bratty little officer in black and white, climbing the stairs to the club.

Sawyer had a hard look on his face as he watched, completely unreadable, but Ben only glanced at him once. He stayed focused on the screen, as Ethan – _damn him_ – appeared and the scene unfolded, finally ending with the officer being led away.

Ethan, Ben surmised, had a lower reasoning capability than a caveman did.

This all left him with a very tangled mess to tidy up, and he wasn't entirely sure how to even go about it. Sawyer was still silent, long after Charlie and Ethan had disappeared from the screen, and Eko eventually reached forward to press a few buttons to rewind it back.

"Why didn't you tell me about this, Mr. Eko?" Ben asked, as if looking for someone to blame.

Eko looked up to him, and there almost seemed to be amusement in his dark eyes: sometimes, Ben worried about the state of mind of his staff. "I didn't think you'd want to be troubled with it."

Ben knew what that meant. It meant that Eko thought Ben had ordered this to happen.

He wasn't that stupid. Ben looked towards Sawyer, shaking his head and feeling at a loss for once in his life. "I apologise for this, I had absolutely no idea. Anything I can do to help, just—"

"Where would Ethan have taken him?" Sawyer asked, without giving Ben a chance to finish talking. "If he decided to kidnap someone, where would he take them?"

Ben, knocked off guard by the question, just frowned in thought for a few moments. "I can't say. He's never indulged any kidnapping plots to me in the past." There were a few places, he supposed, that Ethan might hole a prisoner away, but Ben didn't think that Ethan would be stupid enough to go anywhere so obvious.

"Think," Sawyer snapped, that single word containing threats of gun shots and broken necks if he didn't come up with some answers fast.

They were staring each other down, each waiting for the other to break, when the ringing of Sawyer's cell phone startled them both. Sawyer glared down, annoyed at it for interrupting, before he appeared to realise that it could be important.

Answering it, his face soon paled. "It's Charlie," he mouthed to Claire.


	13. Chapter 13

Charlie closed his eyes and determinedly told himself that he wasn't going to cry from relief when he heard Sawyer's voice. He'd already had three failed attempts at getting the number – it was damn hard to dial when your hands were behind your back; he'd had to do it by touch, and recall the number by memory.

Now he'd shifted to lie on the bed with his head by the handset of the phone that had been left, forgotten, on the bedside cabinet. It was just a matter of time before Ethan came slamming back through the door. Charlie didn't know where he'd gone, why he'd gone there, how long he'd be back…

It didn't matter.

"Sawyer? It's Charlie," he said, breathless.

There was a small pause on the other end of the line, then Sawyer's voice returned to him. Angry, pissed off, worried as hell, but it was still Sawyer – still someone out there who actually stood a chance of getting him out of this. "Where the damn hell are you, kid?"

Charlie gave a snorting laugh, more air than sound, and looked around the room. "Hell if I know, mate. Some hotel – Ethan took me. Grabbed me outside Ben's club."

"Yeah, I know. Shut up and look for something, alright? Anything that might get more specific than 'some hotel'. I ain't gonna check every place in London for you."

Charlie grinned to himself, despite the situation. "Yeah you would."

He sat up before he could hear Sawyer denying it, nearly toppling himself over in the process. Moving wasn't easy like this – but that was kind of the point. It was a _frustrating_ point, but he shuffled along the bed to get back to the bedside cabinet. There was nothing much there: a lamp, the phone with its cream cord curling over to where he'd placed it on the bed, and a red-fronted Bible.

Alright, that was no help. He grit his teeth, pulse racing, and jerked in his seat to attempt to turn around – with his hands tied behind his back, it was awkward and painful but he managed to grasp for the handle of the small drawer. Through luck he grabbed it and tugged, and it slipped open with a jerk.

His shoulders burned but he shuffled back around again, by now able to hear Sawyer's voice coming out of the phone in a muffled murmur. He ignored it for just a second longer, eyes scanning through the drawer for anything useful, for anything like— ah-hah.

Headed paper.

Smiling again, he flopped back onto the bed and ignored the awkward angle that placed his body in. He turned his head towards the phone. "Ben's hotels, Sawyer. Remember he's got a chain of them too? I'm in one of those."

"Which one?"

"No idea. Can't be that many in London though."

"Alright. I'm gonna start searching, Littleton's with me. Can you stay on the line?"

Sawyer's question caused Charlie to glance up nervously to the door. He wasn't sure how long Ethan had been away, but it felt like a while – too long. He should've hung up, but he closed his eyes instead. "Yeah. I'm not exactly going anywhere, am I?"

He could hear Sawyer's voice smiling. "Guess not. I'm gonna fix that real soon. Where's Ethan?"

"No idea."

"You be careful. Don't you give him a reason to hurt you."

"Like I would," Charlie murmured, eyes still closed. If he tried really hard, he could pretend that none of this was happening: they were back at the station, with Sawyer bitching at him like he usually did. "I wasn't planning on sticking a 'shoot me' sign on my back, y'know."

"Good. I'd do it myself if you were that stupid."

"Sad thing is, I actually- fuck." His eyes snapped open as the door handle turned. With the phone beside him and the cabinet drawer open, he was going to be in one hell of a lot of trouble.

For once, he couldn't even think of how to talk his way out of it.

* * *

 

Seconds after Charlie swore, Sawyer could hear muffled yelling through the phone line, followed by a harsh click at the phone was hung up: after that it was just an infuriating dial tone, stretching on forever.

"Charlie?" he snapped down the phone line, as if that might somehow bring Charlie back: it didn't. With a near-silent snarl, he dumped the phone back in his pocket and set his angry gaze on Ben instead. The man blinked nervously, eyes wider than ever. "You. He's at one of your damn hotels: which one?"

"I wouldn't know," Ben answered, and his voice was much too slow – wasting time.

Sawyer stepped forward so that he was closer to Ben than he really needed to be. It allowed him to look down on him, but also caused Eko to stand up menacingly from his chair beside him. "Where? Which of your damn hotels would Ethan take him to?"

The paused TV screens on the wall were getting to him, reflecting his failure: he should've made Charlie take the day off. He should've forced him to stay at home with him all day – instead, Charlie had come out here, and now Sawyer was in danger of getting both Charlie and Kate killed within the same couple of days. Screw that.

"Which _one_?" he repeated, and Claire shifted uncomfortably behind him.

Ben's gaze finally fractured away from his and filtered to the side instead. "I'm not sure," he answered, and that wasn't a good enough answer. "Ethan sometimes works for me in one of them, odd jobs, but I'm sure he would never-"

Sawyer cut him off by grabbing his arm tightly. "C'mon, you're gonna take me there." Without listening to any arguments, he dragged Ben out of the room, out of the club, towards the car, with Claire following.

* * *

The one relieving thing, Ben supposed, about being in a police car was the fact that he was not actually arrested. Even if Sawyer was fuming, even if the little blonde female seemed scared, even if Ethan had finally flipped and lost all logic altogether, he wasn't arrested – and neither was Alex. This could, therefore, still work.

Ethan was the key, of course. Unhinged, a loose cannon and so very, very afraid of him. He could use that to his advantage so easily.

But he was running out of time and the situation just seemed to be turning worse; _today_ , he'd decided. Today was the day that this ended, that he put a lid on Sun's murder and moved on with his life.

He just had to figure out how.

* * *

When the car skidded to a stop outside a gaudy hotel, Sawyer almost felt like smirking: this place was just what you'd expect from someone who owned a strip joint. Fake, flamboyant, phoney.

"What room's he in?" he asked Ben without turning around; his eyes stayed on the hotel instead, and he had to just trust that Littleton was experienced enough to be able to control Ben if she had to. That man seemed mild-mannered enough.

He heard a sigh from the back. "How am I supposed to be able to know that, officer?"

Sawyer shrugged, and wished that Ben would just give him the answer. Charlie was in there: he wanted to get him out with as little hassle as possible. He should've phoned for back-up, some small part of him knew. But they'd come and they'd bring guns and there was too high a chance of Charlie getting shot. He wouldn't risk it. Talking down a madman seemed easier.

"Try asking at the desk. He might be in room twenty-three; he usually stays there when he's sleeping at the hotel," Ben answered wearily.

Sawyer nodded. "Alright. Littleton? Watch him; keep him here."

"If you're not back here in twenty minutes, I'm getting back-up," she warned. He didn't argue with that: it wouldn't take that long. He was going to go in, get Charlie, and arrest Ethan. Simple.

So why did he have the sinking feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong?

* * *

 _Room twenty-three, room twenty-three, room twenty-three._

Damn, he wished he had a gun with him.

He was without a weapon when he stepped out of the elevator and into the beige corridor. Sunlight crawled in through the window at the far end of the hallway, but other than that shadows crept around the floor. He took a shaky breath before he glanced to the closest door: eighteen, and on the other side nineteen.

A few steps brought him to twenty and twenty one.

A few more presented him with twenty two and twenty three.

 _Twenty three_. Heart pounding in his chest in a way that he thought had to be noticeable from the outside, he glared at the door. Charlie was in there. Charlie, and Kate's murderer. This case was going to be finished, today.

He stepped up to the door, guessing that it would be locked: Ethan was dumb, but he wasn't _that_ dumb. He had to have a way to keep Charlie in there.

Fortunately, Sawyer had a way of getting back in – he'd always found that kicking the door down was useful in these situations. It had helped in Jin's house, it would help now. Maybe there wasn't a problem out there that couldn't be solved with a good kick to a door.

As he stepped back before kicking the door as hard as he could, he silently thanked whoever was up there listening that this hotel was so crappy: the fake wood buckled at the first kick, with a loud crack as the door burst open.

The first thing his eyes were drawn to was Charlie lying on the bed: wrists and ankles bound, a bruise forming on his face and angry red marks around his neck. If Sawyer wasn't mistaken, he was also pretty sure that the red around Charlie's eyes meant he'd been crying. When he looked really hard, there were drying tear marks on Charlie's cheeks.

There was no one else that he could see in the room, though, so he darted forward as quickly as he could. "Hey, kid. I'm here," he murmured quietly as he reached him. They didn't have a lot of time, he knew that, but he needed to comfort Charlie somehow.

His words had the opposite effect: Charlie's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly, trying to sit up and get away. Sawyer placed his hands on Charlie's arms to steady him, but that didn't help either. "No. No, Sawyer, you've got to go. Get out of here. You can't- You really can't be here, alright? Just go home, put your feet up, forget I called you. I'm sorry. Just _go_."

Too late.

Still watching Charlie, Sawyer felt the hard metal of a gun brush the back of his head. His breathing froze, as he belatedly sensed a presence behind him. "I wouldn't move if I were you," Ethan's voice calmly instructed him from where he had a handgun aimed at the back of Sawyer's head.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Sawyer began to hope that they'd just make it through the twenty minutes it would take for Claire to call for back-up.


	14. Chapter 14

There was a gun pointed at Sawyer's head and it was all his fault – the realisation had crept up suddenly on Charlie and now all he could do was stare uselessly.

He wrists were beyond sore, rushing past that to a dull and constant ache that he seemed able to ignore. If they got out of this, then he imagined that they'd hurt like hell for a _long_ time. Right now, there was just too much else to focus on. Sawyer, Ethan, a gun.

He swallowed hard, and forced himself not to remember Ethan's hands pressing down hard on his throat after he'd caught him on the phone, or the snapped punch to his face, or the hissed threats of what would happen to anyone that turned up looking for him when Ethan didn't want them to.

And now Sawyer was here and Ethan didn't want him to be and Charlie was really bloody scared that Ethan was going to carry out all those threats.

"Sit down," Ethan ordered quietly. His voice was whispered, as if someone might actually hear them. Charlie wondered if it'd do any good if someone did: they had two police officers in the room and they couldn't do anything.

Sawyer nodded and turned to sit next to Charlie. It was impossible to read the expression on his face, but if Charlie had to guess he'd say Sawyer was pissed off. Whether that was better or worse than terrified, Charlie wasn't sure: he'd definitely say that it was more dangerous.

"I'm sitting. Now what?" Sawyer asked with an annoyed sigh. _Annoyed_? If Charlie's hands weren't tied, he'd slap the guy. Having an armed madman in the room with you was not the time to be annoyed. It was the time to be quiet and scared and grovelling. Why were Sawyer's emotions always so unpredictable?

Ethan scowled, face dark, and he took a step back. All the time, the gun stayed pointed steadily at Sawyer's forehead. "Now just… Just be quiet."

Not an easy order for Sawyer to follow, but Charlie glanced to his face and silently willed him just to go along with this. Playing the hero right now would get someone killed.

The three of them lapsed into an uneasy silence, as Ethan paced and tried to think. He seemed agitated, with jerky movements accompanying his steps, and Charlie didn't even want to breathe too loudly in case that set him off.

Sawyer's hand landed on his shoulder with an alarming suddenness that nearly made him jump; he was ready to hiss an angry selection of words at Sawyer, to point out that dumb rescue attempts were just going to get them hurt, but Sawyer wasn't trying anything like that. His hand just stayed on Charlie's shoulder, warm and reassuring, with light enough pressure to make him feel safe.

 _Safe_.

Their serial killer was standing over there with a gun, and they were probably next on his 'to kill' list, and he felt _safe_. Sawyer's thumb stroked along the ridge of his collarbone, and when he looked up at him in confusion he received a nervous 'it's gonna be alright' smile, so he reckoned feeling safe was maybe okay.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked, attention on them again. His voice sounded calm and perfectly in control, as if he could just distance himself from everything else that was happening. Charlie wished he had that luxury too.

Sawyer's hand didn't move. "You've got his wrists tied badly; it's hurting him," he stated. Charlie rolled his shoulders as best he could; things would've been a lot better if Sawyer wasn't quite so observant. "I need to undo the ropes."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No – I think you've got a gun, so you don't need him tied up. We ain't dumb enough to try anything, but I'm pretty sure you don't want him hurt that bad either. Won't go down well if this goes to court."

Ethan stared at them, the barrel of the gun staring right at Charlie's chest too, and breathed through his nose for a few moments before he nodded. "Alright. Undo his wrists, not his ankles. And this isn't going to go to court. I won't let it."

"Alright," Sawyer said neutrally, shifting his position on the bed so that he could reach Charlie's wrists. His fingers felt warm against his skin so Charlie tried not to wince as Sawyer dealt with the knots as gently as he could. They were tight and Charlie's struggles with them probably hadn't made removing them any easier. "What d'you want then?" Sawyer asked Ethan, even as the ropes started to loosen.

"The case needs to be dropped," Ethan said, confirming his delusions out loud. "The murders of Kwon and Austen, the attack on the lawyer… It all needs to be forgotten about."

The ropes slipped away and Sawyer deposited them on the bed beside them in a coiled loop. Charlie's whole body seemed to sigh and slump with relief, the forced tension on his shoulders and arms lifted; he felt stiff and sore, but it was still soothing.

"How do you expect us to do that?" Charlie asked, as he moved his hands to the front of his body again, sitting upright now that he could push himself up. He had vicious red marks on his skin, ugly rope burns, but Sawyer just swept a warm finger over them sympathetically. "We're just two police officers, mate. This thing's bigger than us now, y'know?"

"Hey," Sawyer said, with a rumbling warning in his voice. "I'm more senior than him, Ethan. Trust me; we can come to some agreement."

Charlie scowled; even if this was a tactic, it was a stupid one. You didn't negotiate with killers. It was a fundamental rule; if not to the police force, then definitely to your moral code, right?

"You better be serious about that," Ethan said. Sawyer smiled and nodded, completely natural in his movements. "If you're not, I _will_ shoot your friend here."

With his life once again under direct threat, Charlie wondered if it was acceptable to want to growl in frustration.

* * *

"We can't just sit here," Ben murmured as he stared out of the window at the front of his hotel.

Sawyer had been gone a considerable length of time: nothing too long, and yet long enough to have easily gone up there, rescued his poor 'colleague' and then returned to the car. The fact that there was absolutely no sign of him yet meant that there had been complications. That, Ben believed, would work in his favour.

In the front seat, Claire shifted her position. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and hadn't taken her eyes off of the front door of the hotel since Sawyer had disappeared inside. "He said we had to."

"And you think we should listen to him?" Ben asked softly.

"He's my boss."

In his own employees, such loyalty would have been a gift. From her, it was irritating. "He's clearly not able to make logical decisions about this."

"What?"

"He's too involved." Much too involved, but that was yet another useful thing for Ben to work with. Sometimes he wondered if they were _trying_ to make this easy for him. "I'm sure you've picked up on that, you're smart enough. I know Ethan; I can reason with him." He paused and leaned forward in the seat. She looked up, allowing him to meet her worried blue eyes in the mirror. "Let me go in – please."

The dilemma played out on her face for just a few moments, but he already knew exactly how it would end. Pace was a friend and a colleague to her. She'd choose what she thought was in his best interests: she'd choose what he'd made her believe was in the DC's best interests.

When she nodded, he tried not to seem too smug. "Alright. Go. And don't you dare get them killed, or I'll arrest you myself." She leaned over to press a button on the dashboard, and his door unlocked itself.

He smiled and stepped out of the car. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "I know what I'm doing."

* * *

Sawyer really didn't have a clue what he was doing.

The plan had seemed nice and simple at first: go in, grab Charlie, get out, call for back-up. Possibly go back and beat the hell out of Ethan. He'd never factored in the idea of Ethan having a weapon, or getting captured himself.

"Alright, that's fine," he responded, even though any threats against Charlie definitely were _not_ fine. It made his teeth hurt to even pretend to go along with this guy's demands, but he wanted both of them to get out of this unharmed, or at least alive. "I promise I'll get rid of the case. To do that, though, I'm gonna have to go. And you're gonna have to let Charlie come with me."

He kept his eyes on the gun instead of Ethan's face. Beside him, he could hear Charlie breathing through his nose, but he didn't turn to look at him. Ethan had to have his attention; once they were safe, Sawyer would be more than happy not to take his eyes off of Charlie once – he'd already decided that Charlie would be staying in his bed that night. Clearly, having Charlie by his side was the only way to make sure that the brat didn't get into trouble.

"I don't have to do anything."

"True," Sawyer answered, with a worried nod. "But I'm gonna need his help with this."

Ethan smirked and shook his head. "You're lying."

Before Sawyer could smile and smoothly lie about his truthfulness, a key turned in the lock of the door. It was quiet, as if the person on the other side of the door was really trying their best not to be heard, but they weren't trying hard enough. Ethan turned, gun aimed instantly at the closed door as he just waited.

It took so long – too long – but eventually it swung open. There was no rescue waiting outside, though. There was just a millionaire with too-big ears and too-wide eyes: Ben Gale wasn't someone that Sawyer had ever imagined being his white knight. He grit his teeth in disappointment.

Ben smiled blandly, and stepped into the room – he ignored the gun entirely, as if knowing that Ethan would never shoot him. That was probably right, Sawyer thought bitterly, shifting with his side brushing against Charlie's.

"Ethan," Ben said as a greeting, with a polite nod to the two officers on the bed. "What exactly are you doing?"

"You told me to-"

"I told you nothing, Ethan," Ben contradicted him sharply; Sawyer held back from snorting in disbelief. " _Nothing_. This was all your own idea." His voice sounded hypnotic again, but Ethan still seemed uneasy. "This kidnapping, those killings, the attacks, everything. It was all you."

Ethan's eyes narrowed, and some silent dialogue seemed to be passing between them: a second, hidden layer of conversation that Sawyer couldn't translate. "You want me to confess? To everything?"

"It's the right thing to do, Ethan," Ben said as he stepped closer, with an icy expression on his face. "Now put the gun down. There's a police car outside, it can escort you to the station."

For a few moments, Sawyer wondered why Ben was managing to act more like a policeman than he was: then things began to erupt and he had other things on his mind.

"I won't confess to something that your-"

Ethan's words were cut off by a sharp slap, small and ladylike, from Ben. The smart sound of it jerked through the room and Sawyer tensed as the two men stared at each other, hyper-aware that there was a gun in Ethan's hand. Ben could get shot if he had to; Sawyer didn't really care about that. The idea of him or Charlie taking a bullet, though, wasn't the way he wanted this to end.

When Charlie tried to stand up to prevent any further fighting, Sawyer grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down, ignoring the wince of pain from touching the rope burns. "Leave 'em to it, Pace," he whispered as Ethan suddenly shoved at Ben's shoulder with his empty hand. "They can kill each other if they want."

Charlie scowled at him and yanked his wrist away roughly, in a way that Sawyer just knew had to be painful. Idiot. Absolute idiot.

More idiotic were the men in front of them, shoving and slapping at each other like little children. Such brats. But what started off as petty pushes were becoming harder and harder, violence escalating at an alarming rate.

Within moments, Ethan had burst out of the primary-school line of fighting and instead punched Ben, hard. Sawyer winced in sympathy as the older man rebounded from the force of the punch – but not for long, seeing as Ben retaliated quickly by kicking his ex-employees shins.

As he sat back and watched, Sawyer realised that he should've been doing something – he didn't want to intervene, but both men were distracted. It was the perfect time to get out of there.

"Charlie?" he said, trying to get the man's attention.

At that exact instant, Ethan punched Ben one last time, the men having moved around the room at some point during their fight, bashing furniture and knocking over lamps as they went. Sawyer hadn't noticed.

He _did_ notice that gun being aimed again.

He _did_ notice it being held at Ben's head.

He _did_ notice that Charlie did the one thing Sawyer had told him not to: he got involved.

He stood up and yelled, only his bound ankles stopping him from physically stopping the fight, but it was enough – enough for Ethan's aim to shift towards him, and enough for the panic to take control of the trigger.

It wasn't until seconds after the _bang_ , when Ethan was staring in horror and Ben hurriedly tackled the gun from his hand then took him to the ground, that Sawyer realised the bullet had hit its target: Charlie was collapsed back on the bed, bleeding red against the clean white sheets.


	15. Chapter 15

The room was beeping - beeping and whooshing and spinning, enough to give anyone a headache. They weren't fun whirling sounds – it wasn't a fairground ride. That was pretty good actually, seeing as Charlie was sure he'd throw up if anyone tried to stick him on a roller coaster right now.

He might just throw up anyway, he realised as he groggily blinked his eyes open.

The florescent lighting above him attacked him with a determined cruelness, causing him to wince and close them again. Eyesight wasn't good if it was just going to hurt, he decided as he tried to burrow further under the thin white sheets that covered him.

A flash of pain all through his body instantly told him that movement wasn't much of an option now. He groaned, in that split-second realising he had a clear mask over his mouth.

His hand rushed to his mouth, ignoring the pain that flashed through him again- a mask. There was a mask over it. Thin tubes wound under his nose. Wires connected up to his arms, he-

"Take it easy, kid," Sawyer's southern voice said next to him. A warm touch brushed against his panicked hand, soothing him down again. "You ain't superman yet – you ended up in hospital after that damn stupid stunt you pulled."

Charlie stared at him, his vision blurred but clear enough to make out the blonde features and the fact that the twisted smile on his boss's face meant that he wasn't as grouchy as he sounded. "Wait, what?" he asked, but his voice was muffled. Scowling, he tugged the oxygen mask down until it rested awkwardly against his chin.

Sawyer pulled his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest. He was scowling too now, looking ready to throttle him if he could. Maybe Charlie was going to have need for that mask again, he thought warily.

"You got yourself shot – been unconscious for a while," Sawyer grumbled. He was slouched low in his seat. "Had a whole heap of operations. Internal bleeding and shit. Doctors said you stopped breathing for a while." He paused and glared out of the window. "Asshole."

Charlie blinked a few times, trying to recall what exactly had happened: Ethan. Definitely something to do with him. And Ben. And fighting. And stupid ropes. And… Christ. Beeping – a heart monitor. He was in hospital.

"I'm alright now though, right?" he asked, momentarily setting aside the case. Maybe for once they had better things to focus on.

Sawyer looked towards him awkwardly. "You're awake, aren't you?" he pointed out, as if that was the only answer. Charlie had watched all the medical dramas. Waking up meant that he'd probably plunge into a coma or end up with plague – though maybe his brother was right when he accused him of watching too many soap operas. "The doctors'll look over you, but you look good to me."

Charlie smiled. "Trying to flatter me, sir?" he asked, even knowing that in a hospital bed wasn't really the appropriate time for this. There was probably never an appropriate time.

That didn't stop Sawyer from smiling and proudly displaying his dimples as he leaned forward, closer to the bed. "Believe me, Pace," he murmured. "When I hit on you, you're gonna know about it."

"Is that a promise?"

Sawyer responded with a wink before he leaned back and glanced to the door, as if he was expecting them to get caught at any moment. Charlie sighed through his nose, around the tubes, pain still ebbing through his side with every breath. There was a drip in his arm, which he hoped was helping with the pain – he didn't want to look at it, but he could feel the hospital's white gauze clinging to his shoulder and hiding the bullet wound from sight.

He'd been _shot_.

He was pretty sure that officially made him a cop, in a Hollywood-style way.

He glanced back to Sawyer, biting his bottom lip for a second before he released it. "What happened back there, mate? With Ethan and Ben? I don't really remember much after- y'know."

"Yeah, I know," Sawyer muttered bitterly. "And I'm gonna kill you if you ever do anything that _stupid_ again. You should've let the bastards shoot each other up, hero. They would've deserved it."

"Just answer the question, Sawyer," Charlie said with a weary tone in his voice. He didn't need to be lectured – but he'd done what he'd thought he had to. Sawyer certainly hadn't looked like he was ready to grow a pair and intervene. "What's up with the case?"

Sawyer shrugged and didn't look at him. "Got a full confession from Rom. Case closed."

Charlie frowned and shook his head: that didn't make sense, did it? "But, Sawyer? That's not right. I mean, remember how Gale was-"

"Case closed, Charlie. We ain't discussing it further. There's a confession, there's a witness, there's DNA evidence placing him at every crime scene." Sawyer stared out the window determinedly. His jaw was set, he looked determined, and Charlie wanted nothing more than to shake him and say that this wasn't right.

"You're covering it up? Ben's got something to do with this, sir. I know he has."

"Let it go," Sawyer said, looking back to him with such a cold look in his eyes. Charlie felt a chill run through him. "You got shot, kid. Kate was killed – and now the guy who did it is going to jail, right where he belongs. It's over. We solved the damn thing."

Charlie's hands formed useless fists as he listened. "Sawyer! You can't believe it's that simple any more than I do. You're not that stupid."

"Ethan's a psycho, Charlie. That's all there is to it. People like him belong in prison." Sawyer stood up from the uncomfortable plastic chair he'd been sitting in. "I'm gonna go get your doctors. Keep quiet about this, you hear me?"

Charlie looked away and nodded. "Yes, sir," he agreed bitterly.

*

Almost a week later, still hurting and doped up on any painkiller he could get his hands on, he was finally discharged. He'd need regular check-ups and so much time off from work, but at least he was out of that sterile environment. When he left through the automatic doors at the front of the hospital, the fresh air hit him - even in London, it was the best thing he'd even smelt.

He glanced up at the nurse who had accompanied them outside from where he was sat in the temporary wheelchair – hospital policy not to let invalids like him stand on their own two feet, apparently – and smiled gratefully. "Thanks," he murmured, before he stood up with the nurse's help.

Sawyer hovered like a worried parent behind him – they'd been on eggshells around each other all week, alternatively bitching at each other or flirting like they couldn't wait to get into bed together. It all made Charlie's head spin, if he was honest.

"Careful with him," Sawyer grumbled as the nurse helped Charlie into the front of the car. The nurse rolled his eyes, before giving a sly smile to Charlie.

Charlie blushed and tried to ignore any rude implications in that smile. He focused on the ever-present pain in his shoulder instead: it was a dire day when gunshot wounds were preferable to the idea that even near-strangers could pick up on the weird relationship you had with your boss.

"So," Sawyer said when he got into the driver's seat minutes later, once the nurse had gone back to work. He slammed the door behind him and glanced over to Charlie. "You still mad at me?"

Charlie shrugged lightly with his good shoulder, and just looked down at where his arm was in a sling to protect his wound from the strain. "Not today."

"Good. 'cause I'm taking you back to mine."

That caused him to look back up, as Sawyer started the car. "You're what?"

"You're stayin' with me for the next few weeks. Doctors said you shouldn't be alone, and as far as I can tell you ain't got any family down here – closest thing is your damn brother, away in Manchester, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you that far out of my sight."

Charlie was pretty sure he was blushing, so he scowled to try and hide it. Luckily, Sawyer was busy reversing out of their parking space anyway. "But- Sawyer, your place is a death trap!" he complained, unsure why he was even trying to find a way out of this.

"I cleaned up," Sawyer said defensively. "I _can_ tidy, y'know. I just prefer watching you do it."

"Perv."

"Definitely," Sawyer agreed, glancing over to him for a second. He had that x-ray look in his eyes, the one that said 'my imagination knows exactly what you look like naked'. Charlie shifted in his seat, unsure whether to be disgusted or turned on. He settled for the latter option when Sawyer's voice dropped to a heavy Southern rumble. "'sides – are you really gonna tell me you ain't been thinking about sharing a bed with me for weeks? I know I have."

"Sawyer!" Charlie protested, trying his best to sound outraged. He didn't think he really managed it all that well. "Will you-"

A loud honking from another car in the car park reminded them that Sawyer had stopped half-way through reversing to try and chat up his co-worker. The DI scowled and waved in annoyance at the other driver, attention on the road.

Charlie leaned back against his seat and sighed – although secretly he really couldn't wait until they got back to Sawyer's apartment.

*

Sawyer's hands felt sweaty against the wheel as he parked his car outside his apartment. Charlie had been almost silent for the entire journey, not even requesting that the radio was turned on. It made Sawyer sure he'd said something wrong, that he'd finally misread all the signals and overstepped his boundaries.

He looked over to Charlie: pale and worried-looking, but he was still alive. Sawyer didn't think he was ever going to get over the stomach-dropping horror of seeing him fall to the bed bleeding. It'd been haunting his dreams, in the same way his mama's death did – but this time, it seemed like whatever god was up there had taken pity on him. He'd let someone survive.

"Y'know, kid," he said awkwardly, and he really wasn't used to doing this. "I, uh… I'm not pressuring you into anything. I'm gonna sleep on the couch while you're here. I got a week off work from Locke – he's still edgy around us – but I'll stay outta your way. Promise. I'm not… I'm not like that."

He couldn't be 'like that' because the shame that Charlie's disapproving glare gave him was more than he could take. That blue-eyed frown always let him know that Charlie thought he'd screwed up in just arresting Ethan, but he didn't care. He didn't care about a lot of people, but this dumb case had robbed him of one of the few people he had cared about – and then it had nearly killed Charlie too. Justice didn't really matter in the face of that, and screw anyone who told him differently.

Charlie looked back at him, and even if he was younger than Sawyer he seemed a lot older sometimes – or at least a lot wiser. "Nope. You're not allowed to do that, mate," he said, sounding curiously chirpy. He raised the hand from his uninjured side to trace over the curve of Sawyer's bicep, but he didn't look away from the man's face. "You don't get to tease me then just retract the past month of flirting. Believe me, I _want_ you to be 'like that'."

Sawyer didn't move much at all, barely daring to actually push his luck on this one. "So you're saying-"

"I'm saying… I dunno what I'm saying. 'Yes'? Though, saying yes means there's a question and there's no question so just… I'm saying I like you. I'm saying you're an annoying git who bitches at me constantly and who can't go two seconds without insulting someone but I can't help wanting to be around you. And I'm also saying I'm sick of sitting in your car and my shoulder hurts, so let's get me inside."

Sawyer grinned, finally reaching a request he could fulfil. "Why didn't you say so earlier?" he grumbled as he shoved his car door open and stood up, closing it behind him.

When he walked around the car and opened the opposite door, Charlie just watched him. It wasn't until he'd leaned down with the instruction for Charlie to put his arm around his neck that the Brit realised he planned on carrying him all the way upstairs – and it was then that he gave a squawking objection.

"Oi! You can't just-"

"I can," Sawyer said, lifting him up out of the car and toeing the door closed. A press of the button on his key ring made the locks beep as they clicked closed. "And I'm being romantic. Appreciate it – it ain't gonna happen all that often."

Charlie mumbled in grudging consent, hot breath skimming over Sawyer's neck. "Just don't drop me," he said with a resigned tone.

Sawyer smirked and promised not to, while wondering why the hell Charlie had to be so much heavier than he looked.

"Don't worry, kid," he answered as he carried him towards the door. "I got you." As Charlie leaned against him, trusting him fully, it almost made Sawyer's breath catch to realise how true that was.


	16. Epilogue

"Pace?" Sawyer asked as he walked past. His eyes skimmed between Jack and Charlie, deep in conversation, and he scowled. "I need to see you in my office."

Charlie smiled apologetically at Jack and stood up from the desk he'd been sitting at. They had a new case to work on now: they'd had dozens in the year that had passed since Ethan had finally been slammed behind bars for life. The doctor had just appeared to hand back some autopsy reports. "Sorry, mate," he said as he stood up. "And thanks for getting these back to me."

Jack nodded and moved away, as Charlie rolled his eyes and followed Sawyer back to his office. He closed the door after them, flicking the lock without even thinking about it.

Sawyer was standing in the centre of the room, having clearly been waiting for him to arrive. "I thought I said I didn't like you talking to him," he said. He was probably fuming – he just sounded petty, like a small child not getting his own way.

"And I thought I said I didn't like it when you got jealous." Charlie walked over to him, legs apart and mirroring his boss's stance. "Besides, I work with him. It's kinda inevitable that talking will happen at some point."

"You were smiling."

"I do that a lot. You might've noticed."

"You were smiling at him."

"He was being funny."

"I can be funny," Sawyer said, while scowl-pouting.

Charlie smiled indulgently, and removed the cop's hat from his head. He flung it away to land on the seat in front of Sawyer's chair, before he stepped forwards to place his hands on Sawyer's hips. "You can be other things than funny too."

Sawyer looked down, and his scowl-pout was trying to become a scowl-pout-smile. He was fighting it, but Charlie could see the hint of the impression there. "Yeah?" he said. "Like what?"

"Like childish." Charlie quickly earned a glare, so he kissed the corner of Sawyer's mouth, his lip brushing over the scattering of stubble. "And adorable. And sexy. And pretty."

"Pretty?"

"I mean handsome."

Sawyer grinned and glanced over to the door. "'course you do. How long we got?"

The clock over his shoulder said that it was almost midday. "I'd say fifteen minutes, tops. I'm really busy today, mate," he complained, but he didn't object when Sawyer turned them around and slowly walked him over to the desk. "And I thought we weren't supposed to have sex at work any more."

"That's what makes it fun."

Charlie held back a smile as the backs of his legs hit into the side of the desk. He sat back, Sawyer stepping between his legs with his hands on Charlie's hips, and their foreheads rested together. "We're alright, aren't we?" Sawyer asked, serious for once.

"Yeah. We're fine."

"You ain't planning on running off with the doc?"

Charlie chuckled. " _No_. I'm happy with you, Sawyer. No plans on leaving, ever."

When Sawyer grunted his approval and leaned in to kiss him, the warm and aggressive glow in Charlie's abdomen told him that couldn't be more true.

*

  
_  
She isn't alone in the cemetery – there are other mourners by other graves. Some wear black, still newly grieving. There are others in more comfortable clothes, jeans and woolly jumpers, who have a numb determination to their faces as they diligently maintain the graves of their loved ones. They rip up weeds and place down new flowers, removing the old and dead ones._

 _She wears the same comfortable clothes as they do, but she has no intention of kneeling down in the muck to tidy Sun Kwon's final resting place. It is neat already; her mother had a husband to take care of these things. There's a framed picture of the pair on top of the headstone, smiling and happy._

 _Alex stares at it, and she still doesn't understand. Her mother had been fine, hadn't she? She'd been content. They all had been – right until she threw a tantrum and found a lawyer. It had been her that had messed everything up, not Alex. Not Alex._

 _But now her Dad won't look at her and he seems sad all the time; Uncle Ethan is gone, hiding her crimes, and it's just… broken. Everything is broken._

 _And it kinda sucks._

 _She drops the flower she brought with her – a large and out-of-season sunflower; she'd thought it was apt – on top of the grave of the woman she murdered. She doesn't feel guilt. She's supposed to and she lets Ben think that she does._

 _Instead she just feels resentment, hating that a woman with no connection to her other than blood has managed to mess her life up so badly. She scowls at the marble gravestone, and remembers how much her father had struggled not to cry when they attended the funeral, over a year ago: he really loved her, she'd realised with a sick jolt._

 _She rolls her eyes and knows what she ought to say – 'I'm sorry' – but she shakes her head._

 _"I hope you're happy now," she mutters, before she walks away from Sun's grave. The other mourners smile wearily at her as she passes, searching for some sort of connection in their sadness._

 _She ignores them and walks on – free, innocent, and pissed off about it.  
_


End file.
